Penumbra
by Riniel o Imladris
Summary: Penumbra – A space of partial illumination as in an eclipse between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light. "Eclipse" from Edward’s point of view.
1. Waiting

_She is as in a field a silken tent_

_At midday when the sunny summer breeze_

_Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,_

_So that in guys it gently sways at ease,_

_And its supporting central cedar pole,_

_That is its pinnacle to heavenward_

_And signifies the sureness of the soul,_

_Seems to owe naught to any single cord,_

_But strictly held by none, is loosely bound_

_By countless silken ties of love and thought_

_To every thing on earth the compass round,_

_And only by one's going slightly taut_

_In the capriciousness of summer air_

_Is of the slightest bondage made aware._

– _**The Silken Tent**__ by Robert Frost_

* * *

Inevitability.

The term has been skittering through my mind all night, teasing the edges of my consciousness like faraway strains of music, daring me to latch onto the knotted threads of hope and sheer need that accompany each syllable. These threads both tantalize and sicken my imagination, summoning memories of events that culminated with the two greatest failures of my entire existence.

From the very beginning, before I fully understood the consequences of the path I had been placed upon, I tried to thwart fate. Running from the single most powerful temptation I had ever faced, I foolishly reasoned with myself that the worst was over, that I could return to my family as though nothing had occurred – when in fact the foundations of my whole world were shifting like quicksand under my feet.

_The midnight hue of the night sky bathed the snowy field in shades of violet and cobalt, the stars twinkling like pinpricks of white across the velvety black expanse of the heavens. _

_I curled my knees to my chest and rested my chin atop them, thinking of my family. I was anxious to see them…yet I continued to hesitate, craving the icy haven of Denali for just a few more minutes._

_I knew that Alice would see me coming home, that she would tell the others. This would make them happy – Carlisle and Esme especially. But I gazed at the stars for one more moment, trying to see past the face in my head._

_Between me and the brilliant lights in the sky, a pair of bewildered chocolate-brown eyes stared back at me, seeming to ask what this decision would mean for _her._ Of course, I couldn't be sure if that was really the information her curious eyes sought. Even in my imagination, I couldn't hear her thoughts. _

_Bella Swan's eyes continued to question, and an unobstructed view of the stars continued to elude me. With a heavy sigh, I gave up, and got to my feet. If I ran, I would be back to Carlisle's car in less than an hour…_

So I went back to my routine, donning the cultivated façade I had perfected over the years, and found myself face to face with the same enigmatic creature that had so thoroughly disrupted the consistent pattern of my life with her mere presence.

I wanted to rise above the bloodthirsty monster clawing at my throat with each breath of her appealing fragrance, to prove to my siblings and ultimately myself that my will was strong enough to overcome instinct, and – if I was completely honest – the girl presented a challenge that I felt compelled to undertake: the mystery of her silent thoughts.

Initiating harmless conversation while we were partnered for a ridiculously simple lab assignment, I began to realize that she was far more observant than any other human I had encountered…and instead of making me more wary, I grew careless.

"_Prophase." She lifted her face from the microscope, certain that her assessment was correct. _

_Thin, cream-colored fingers grasped the ends of the slide, preparing to remove it, but I was not entirely convinced of her intelligence in this area. The other children were struggling – their mental scrambling made a dull clamor in the back of my head – so why was she so confident? I had to know._

"_Do you mind if I look?" Instinctively – stupidly, as if I were one of her kind – I reached out to stop her hand from removing the slide._

_For one second, the heat of her skin burned into mine. It was like an electric pulse – surely much hotter than a mere ninety-eight point six degrees. The heat shot through my hand and up my arm. She yanked her hand out from under mine._

The sensation of that remembered surge of heat pales in comparison to the warmth that suddenly coils around my ribcage as Bella shifts closer to me in her sleep, one arm thrown across my torso, her head nestled into the curve of my shoulder.

Every conscious thought flees when her soft sigh ignites my skin like sparks to dry kindling, the ache in my throat from her sweet scent nearly vanishing as liquid fire pools in the center of my being.

Petal-soft lips catch the collar of my shirt as she mumbles in a low, breathy voice, "Edward."

My eyes flutter closed, longing and profound gratefulness spiraling through me in response to the sound of my name coming from her mouth. Turning slightly, I rest my cheek on her sleep-tousled hair and pull my right arm from behind my head, threading my fingers into the dark tresses.

With flawless clarity, I recall the first time I entered this room, driven by a gnawing, inescapable need to see her face again. And that was the night I truly came to life.

_She murmured my name, no louder than a gentle whisper, her eyelids quivering._

_I froze, staring at her unopened eyes._

_Had she woken, caught me here? She_ looked_ asleep, yet her voice had been so clear…_

_She sighed a quiet sigh, and then moved restlessly again, rolling to her side – still fast asleep and dreaming. "Edward," she mumbled softly._

_She was dreaming of me._

_Could a dead, frozen heart beat again? It felt like mine was about to._

"_Stay," she sighed. "Don't go. Please…don't go."_

Unexpectedly, the memory distorts like cracks splintering across a mirror, and Bella's slumbering features change into a mask of devastation, her rosy lips bleached white, brown eyes consuming her pale face as she stares up at me.

"_Don't," she begged in a hoarse whisper. Her full lower lip trembled; I forced myself to hold her gaze while staving off the urge to smooth my thumb over the warm curve. "Don't do this." She staggered a half-inch forward._

_If she came any closer I knew that I would not have the strength to finish what I had begun. I clenched my hands at my side, my palms burning with the need to touch her skin, her hair, and said harshly, "You're not good for me, Bella."_

_Her shoulders slumped, defeated, and she seemed to cave in on herself even as she drew in a shaky breath, her weight settling back onto her heels. "If…that's what you want," she replied in a quiet, lifeless voice._

_I wanted to die. I wanted to live – with her. I wanted what I did not deserve. I wanted what was best for her. Lost in a whirlpool of contradictions, I could only nod._

Sucking in a sharp breath, I grit my teeth and concentrate, dispelling the horrific images of my first failure, and bury my nose in Bella's hair. A single deep inhalation of rain-soaked freesia fills my lungs, returning me to the cool spring night I found the reason for my existence.

_She was dreaming of me, and it wasn't even a nightmare. She wanted me to stay with her, there in her dream._

_I struggled to find words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had no words strong enough to hold them. For a long moment, I drowned in them._

_When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been._

_My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?_

_At the time that I had become a vampire, trading my soul and my mortality for immortality in the searing pain of transformation, I had truly been frozen. My body had turned into something more like rock than flesh, enduring and unchanging. My _self, _also, had frozen as it was – my personality, my likes and dislikes, my moods and my desires; all were fixed in place._

_It was the same for the rest of them. We were all frozen. Living stone._

_When change came for one of us, it was a rare and permanent thing. I had seen it happen with Carlisle, and then a decade later with Rosalie. Love had changed them in an eternal way, a way that never faded. More than eighty years had passed since Carlisle had found Esme, and yet he still looked at her with the incredulous eyes of first love. It would always be that way for them._

_It would always be that way for me, too. I would always love this fragile human girl, for the rest of my limitless existence._

_I gazed at her unconscious face, feeling this love for her settle into every portion of my stone body._

_She slept more peacefully now, a slight smile on her lips._

_Always watching her, I began to plot._

_I loved her, and so I would try to be strong enough to leave her. I knew I wasn't that strong now. I would work on that one. But perhaps…_

A silent snarl contorts my mouth, my own thoughts tormenting me once again with visions of anguish and betrayal and every cruel lie I had wielded like a blade, shredding into Bella's tender flesh to pierce the only heart that could love a monster like me.

_She accepted my terms of the promise I had no right to ask, and I told her in an even tone that belied the chaos vying for dominance in my skull that I would promise her something in return. "__I promise that this will be the last time you'll see me.__I won't come back.__I won't put you through anything like this again.__You can go on with your life without any more interference from me.__It will be as if I'd never existed."_

With those words, I had spoken truth. In the months I was gone, I had not existed. I had been a ghost – a white shadow lurking in the hidden places of the world, battling for sanity every passing second while experiencing a craving infinitely more powerful than thirst that pleaded for me to go back to the only sanctuary I had ever known.

Surrender had seemed imminent; though I had distanced myself from Bella by an entire continent, it would have been a simple matter to return.

Then the phone rang.

_Rosalie and I sparred verbally; she hinted that something had happened that would cause me to come home, and informed me that Alice – whom had vowed to leave Bella and Forks alone for as long as I did – was currently in the rainy little town that sheltered the one who held my heart._

"_I thought once this whole Forks thing was finished, you would get over it."_

_ "Forks was never the problem, Rosalie," I said, trying to be patient. What she'd said about Esme and Carlisle had struck a chord. "Just because Bella" – it was hard to say her name out loud – "has moved to Florida, it doesn't mean that I'm able… Look, Rosalie. I really am sorry, but, trust me, it wouldn't make anyone happier if I were there."_

_ "Um…" There it was, that nervous hesitation again._

_ "What is it that you're not telling me, Rosalie? Is Esme all right? Is Carlisle –?"_

_ "They're fine. It's just…well, I didn't say that Bella _moved."

_I didn't speak. I ran over our conversation in my head. Yes, Rosalie_ had_ said that Bella had moved. She'd said: _…you only warned us to stay away from Bella, right? The rest of Forks doesn't matter. _And then:_ I thought once this whole Forks thing was finished…

_So Bella wasn't in Forks. What did she mean, Bella hadn't moved?_

_Then Rosalie started rushing through her words again, saying them almost angrily this time. "They didn't want to tell you, but I think that's stupid. The quicker you get over this, the sooner things can go back to normal. Why let you mope around the dark corners of the worlds when there's no good for it? You can come home now. We can be a family again. It's over."_

_ My mind seemed to be broken. I couldn't make sense of her words. It was like there was something very, very obvious she was telling me, but I had no idea what it was. My brain played with the information, making strange patterns of it. Nonsensical._

"_Edward?"_

_ "I don't understand what you are saying, Rosalie."_

_ A long pause, the length of a few human heartbeats. "She's dead, Edward." A longer pause. "I'm… sorry. You have a right to know, though, I think. Bella…threw herself off a cliff two days ago. Alice saw it, but it was too late to do anything. I think she would have helped, though, broken her word, if there had been time. She went back to do what she could for Charlie. You know how she's always cared for him –"_

_ The phone went dead. It took me a few seconds to realize that I'd shut the power off._

_I sat in the dusty darkness for a long, frozen space. It was like time had ended. Like the universe had stopped._

_Slowly, moving like an old man, I turned my phone back on and dialed the one number I'd promised myself I would never call again._

_If it was her, I would hang up. If it was Charlie, I'd get the information I needed through subterfuge. I'd prove Rosalie's sick little joke wrong, and then go back to my nothingness._

_ "Swan residence," answered a voice I'd never heard before. A man's husky voice, deep, but still youthful. I didn't pause to think about the implications of that._

_ "This is Dr. Carlisle Cullen," I said, perfectly imitating my father's voice. "May I please speak to Charlie?"_

_ "He's not here," the voice responded, and I was dimly surprised by the anger in it. The words were almost a snarl. But that didn't matter._

_ "Well, where is he then?" I demanded, getting impatient._

_ There was a short pause, as if the stranger wanted to withhold the information from me. "He's at the funeral," the boy finally answered._

_I shut the phone again._

Bella moans a little, tucking her warm body into my side, and the painful tightening in my chest lessens somewhat, the echoes of the past clearing in the light of the present like mist burned away by the sun.

I brush my lips on her forehead, wordlessly thanking her for saving me yet again from the darkness of my own mind. But I recognize in this moment of reflection that my first failure – abandoning my Bella to the likes of Laurent, Victoria, and the_ dogs_ – paved the way for my second failure. A failure that, selfishly, feels like more of a triumph whenever Bella is in my arms.

I have no one to blame but myself for involving the Volturi. And of course once they learned that a human is aware of our world, there are but two options: death or transformation.

Part of me still revels in the knowledge that Bella genuinely desires to be with me forever – so much so that she called for a family vote a few weeks ago and then, after receiving their approval, guaranteed that she would join me in immortality by seeking Carlisle's word that he would condemn her to three days of torture after her high school graduation.

The other part of me – the part that still fears the destruction of Bella's soul despite her rebuttal about my beliefs, _"There's hope in you, after all."_ – plots daily to circumvent this rapidly approaching deadline.

I thought that I had come up with the perfect stalling tactic that same morning, but I realized as the days went on that it was far more than just a strategic maneuver. It was the deepest wish of my heart.

"_Marry me first."_

Gently, I slip my hand under her left palm, cradling it like a delicate glass figurine, and rub the pad of my thumb across the bottom of her third finger. I have no doubt that Bella wants me and not Carlisle to usher her into this life, but her aversion to marriage keeps her from readily agreeing to my condition. And while I am undeniably relieved to have been granted a stay for her conversion, I cannot stifle the growing ache within me to see my mother's ring on her hand.

Although Bella continually insists that she is mine, the tangible symbol of belonging that a ring holds is something that I am unable to fully banish from my thoughts…especially since the altercation in the woods with the dog.

_Jacob._

I owed the boy for his constant protection of Bella in my absence, but it was crystal clear on that rainy afternoon that he felt more than friendship for the fragile girl shielded behind me. Considering how violently he had reacted when she had all but spat at him that her choice to become one of us was none of his business, and how he had used his sorrow over her impending 'death' as he saw it to appeal to her self-sacrificing nature, warned me far more than his stench and quivering limbs that he is a much greater threat than I had first assumed.

The mutt loves my Bella, and he wants her for himself.

I have seen his memories of their time together, and the image of her pale face framed by his large hands, his imaginings of sharing a kiss with her, causes a nearly inaudible growl to rumble through my chest.

He cannot have her. She is _mine._

And, however perversely, the idea of him seeing my ring on Bella's hand, of him finally realizing that he has lost, fills me with a wicked sense of satisfaction.

From the corner of my eye, I notice faint streaks of pale orange illuminating the overcast sky outside the bedroom window, and a quick glance at the nightstand clock confirms that the alarm is poised to go off in exactly eight and a half minutes. Plenty of time to wake Bella up properly, I muse to myself, smirking.

Arranging her limp form carefully beside mine, I lean down and nuzzle the line of her jaw, breathing in fiery gulps of air, and then I whisper into her ear, "Bella, love…it's time to wake up."

A soft whimper is all I receive in reply.

"Bella…" I call again, a bit louder, and tickle her cheeks and eyelids with a string of feather-light kisses. "Wake up." My lips grace the tip of her nose, and hers part ever so slightly, tempting me. But her eyes remain closed, so I cajole her affectionately, "Open your eyes so I can tell you good morning."

Two narrow slits of chocolate brown part her lashes, and she grimaces at the brightening glow of the window. "Are you sure it's morning?" she grumbles under her breath, her voice croaky from sleep.

"Mmm-hmm," I affirm, grinning in ridiculous amusement at her scrunched up expression. There is something unbelievably adorable about the way she rubs her eyes with her fist like a child. I smooth her tangled hair behind an ear and watch with delight as a rosy flush blooms on her cheeks even as she attempts to squint at me in mock-disapproval.

"Are you awake now?" The eagerness in my tone is obvious – it has, after all, been six hours and twenty-two minutes since our last kiss. But this new hunger is a tricky thing to manage. I must maintain some level of control despite the electricity sizzling between our bodies.

Bella hums in assent, still blinking her sleep-fogged eyes, yet as soon as I capture her exquisite face in my hands, her heart thrums out a rapid staccato rhythm.

Pausing a hair's breadth from her lips, I say tenderly, "Good morning, love," before alighting on her warm mouth.

Of course, these types of careful kisses evolve quite swiftly into tight embraces and soft, exploring caresses. Today is no exception.

From the moment of our reconciliation after returning from Italy, the intimacy between Bella and I has continually escalated, building towards something I cannot even begin to fathom.

My thumbs drift over her flushed skin, savoring the heat, and she lets out an earnest sigh, one palm sliding up my chest to curl around my neck, branding my nerve endings with her white-hot touch.

A tiny voice buried within my oddly fragmented thoughts warns that I should bring this to a close, but I am incapable of releasing her moist, burning-soft lips just yet.

Then a slender calf slips around the back of my legs, and in less than a second, an intoxicating blend of warmth and friction explodes between us as Bella pulls herself against me, her soft curves melting into the icy hardness of my torso.

The sensation is beyond description. And extremely dangerous.

I exhale in a sharp gust, my eyes snapping open in shock, only to find that Bella is mimicking my reaction exactly, her face a brilliant shade of crimson.

Deftly, I unwind my legs from hers and separate myself from her a few inches, balancing on the very edge of her too-small mattress, and look on with mounting dismay as the mortification in Bella's wide eyes changes to apology. She drops her gaze to the wrinkled sheets, mouthing almost silently, "Sorry."

That she would take responsibility for the unfair restrictions of our physical relationship is utterly unacceptable. With a low sigh, I reach out and cup her reddened cheek, offering consolation by tracing the shape of her absurdly enticing lips with my fingertips. "Bella." I pause for the length of one of her heartbeats to relish the way her name rolls off my tongue. "It's not your fault. You have no reason to be sorry." This morning will not be ruined because of my weakness. Lifting one corner of my mouth, I give her a crooked smile and remark, "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish telling you 'good morning'."

She smiles back timidly, and then closes her eyes, holding perfectly still while I lean in for a brief but sweet kiss.

"There," I declare a moment later. The shrill beeping of her alarm clock fills the room just as I speak.

Bella groans and throws the blankets over her head. "I'm not going," she states in a muffled growl.

Playfully, I tug the blankets from her grasp and sit up. "Yes, you are. History quiz today, remember? I won't have another incomplete on your transcripts."

She mumbles something unintelligible into her pillow and abruptly heaves herself out of bed, plodding over to her closet.

I head towards the window, reluctant as always to leave her, and toss a quick grin in her direction while sliding open the glass pane. "I'll be back in an hour to pick you up." A sudden, unwelcome thought breaks through, and I frown. "Am I allowed to take you to school?" Charlie's strict rules have until recently forbidden me from even pulling into the driveway, but I was permitted several times to collect Bella after her shift at Newton's Outfitters. Perhaps a ride to and from school would be acceptable, as well.

"I don't see why not," Bella answers, abstracted. She removes a t-shirt and a pair of jeans from the closet – ignoring the dozen or so complete ensembles that Alice had put together for her – and looks up at me with a faint smirk. "You've already picked me up from work, so school should be fine, too."

My grin widens, inordinately pleased at how our reasoning is aligned. "Then I'll see you in an hour." I bend my knees slightly to spring out the open window.

"Fifty-seven minutes," she counters, bringing me up short. When I glance at her curiously, she nods towards the clock, arching her eyebrows.

Chuckling, I dash to her side and lean down for a quick kiss. "Yes, ma'am," I breathe, staring deep into her chocolate-brown eyes. Her heartbeat stutters in response. Then I leap outside before I lose the will to leave, if only for fifty-seven minutes.

Beneath the soles of my feet, the awakening town swiftly gives way to the comforting green embrace of the forest, and soon I am sprinting across the meadow and up the front steps of the house.

Alice, of course, is waiting for me on the staircase. "You could have at least encouraged her to wear one of my outfits," she chides, trailing me to my bedroom in the third floor. _I spent a good deal of time and effort to find clothing that is both stylish and practical. She could show a little more interest._

I roll my eyes. "You know as well as I that Bella is incredibly stubborn," I remind my meddling sister while striding into my closet to change. "She hates the idea of wearing something that costs more than her entire paycheck." I tug on a pair of black pants and yank some random shirt off its hanger from the rack to my left. "Besides," I say, preparing to throw the shirt over my head, "it doesn't matter to me in the slightest what she wears. She always looks beautiful."

A streak of black and white whizzes past me, plucking the shirt from my hands. It is replaced a half-second later by a cobalt blue button-down, and Alice leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, one thin eyebrow quirked in expectation. _You are_ not_ going to school in last season's D&G collection,_ she all but snarls mentally. _It is my job to make sure that this family upholds a certain standard in fashion, and you are a part of this family. As is Bella. _

She grins in triumph when I dutifully put on the button-down. _And as for your insistence that it doesn't matter what she wears…_ "You say that _now,_ Edward," she trills aloud in an annoyingly superior tone, "but trust me: one day you'll pay_ very_ close attention to what Bella's wearing."

To prove her point, Alice treats me to yet another variation of the same vision she has been getting on and off since my initial proposal weeks ago. Bella, wrapped in white lace and chiffon, a misty gauze veil draped over her blushing features, walking down a flower-strewn aisle towards me.

Though my dead heart threatens to sprout wings and take flight each time Alice teases me with this vision, I successfully tamp down my enthusiasm to fix her with a withering glare. "It's not going to happen anytime soon, Alice. Let it go."

"I will whenever you do," she immediately retorts._ Your future hasn't deviated from this course, so you've obviously made your decision._ "Or until Bella makes up her mind." She flounces to the doorway, calling out, "Which will be very soon, trust me." I catch a brief glimpse of her impish smile and winking topaz eye as she ducks around the corner. "Meet you at the car."

Scowling, I walk over to the small mahogany table beside the leather sofa and crouch down, retrieving a honey-colored wooden coffer from the bottom shelf, which holds my most treasured mementos. I flip open the brass clasp and lift the lid, my gaze locking at once on the square black satin box tucked into the far right corner.

Within that tiny box is the representation of one hundred years of yearning and loneliness and a hope that refused to die, and it is meant to be worn by the woman who is my every desire brought to life.

Very soon, Alice had said. I had been considering the idea of proposing properly before graduation, a date that sends a shiver of dread down my spine at the same time that fireworks burst within my skull, but that may not be enough time to sway Bella from her obstinate demand of undergoing the transformation before her nineteenth birthday.

A key piece to my strategy is still missing. Bella desperately wants me to change her, yet that want has lacked the strength to keep her from following through on her pact with Carlisle.

There must be something else I can barter with, something she wants more than immortality…but what?

_Edward, it's after seven!_

Spurred on by Alice's singsong pronouncement, I hastily close the lid and replace the box on the shelf, flying down the stairs and through the door while Esme comments from the massive front room, "Have a good day at school, dear."

Alice is already seated in the back of the Volvo, her thoughts a flurry of images as she scans through the day's coming events. I jam the key into the ignition and the engine rumbles to life. Half a minute later, we are turning onto the highway to head back into town, the weakened yellow rays of the rising sun struggling to filter through the thick clouds dominating the sky.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Alice informs me suddenly, her mind returning to the present. With the continued threat of Victoria, my sister has risen to the challenge of keeping very close tabs on Bella at all hours, doing whatever she can to protect her best friend. "Your plan to show up tonight with college applications should make Charlie less inclined to interrupt," she adds in a mild tone. "Though I can't say that Bella will be pleased." The image of Bella's fierce yet adorable glower flits across her mind's eye, and she giggles softly.

I smile to myself. Bella has certainly been selling herself short with her list of potential schools, although we had reached a compromise by applying to the University of Alaska Southeast. My acceptance letter is due to arrive in the mail today; I am positive – courtesy of Alice – that Bella will receive hers, as well.

But if I succeed in convincing her to wait at least a year, I want every possible avenue open to her in regard to higher education. She deserves nothing but the best, and neither tuition nor location is an issue.

My imagination begins to chase after the delightful vision of Bella and I sharing a dorm as a married couple as the Volvo coasts down her street, Alice chiming in the background, "Park out front; Charlie hasn't left yet."

I can hear Bella's footsteps skittering down the stairs, her pulse beating out a quick cadence, and then she says, "Hey, Dad, could you…" She hesitates, and sucks in a breath. "Are you going to see Billy today?"

The air freezes in my lungs. The dog, again.

Interest and a hint of smugness color Charlie's hazy thoughts. "I was thinking that I might pay him a visit sometime this afternoon," he tells her. "Why?"

"Could you give him this?" A faint rustling noise, like paper, punctuates her request. "It's for Jacob." Her voice wavers a bit when she says his name.

My fingers tense around the steering wheel. It frustrates me to no end that she insists on trying to maintain her friendship with the mutt – especially when he is the one who exposed her secret of motorcycle riding to Charlie in hopes of sabotaging our time together.

More than that, he is a juvenile wolf: unpredictable and wild by his very nature. It is out of the question for Bella to be in his presence without the protection of myself or my family, and since I am bound by the terms of the treaty as much as he, she will not be crossing the boundary to Quileute lands anytime soon.

"Sure, kid," Charlie agrees. "But…" Confusion weaves into his words as he asks, "I thought he hasn't returned your phone calls in weeks. Why don't you just go see him?"

Leather and plastic creak in protest beneath my palms. Alice lightly places her small hand on my shoulder. _Calm down, Edward._

I force a deep, slow breath through my nose, deliberately relaxing my grip on the wheel.

"It's easier this way," Bella replies in a hard voice. Perhaps she is not as quick to forgive the mutt's rudeness as I had originally believed. "Maybe now he'll actually give me an answer." The front doorknob clicks as it is spun to the side, and her lithe silhouette appears on the threshold. "See you later," she calls in farewell, and pulls the door closed, her pace quickening with every step towards the Volvo.

Collapsing into the passenger seat, her warm aroma billowing around her, she turns to me with a vivid smile. "Right on time," she murmurs happily.

The aggravation birthed by her unknown appeal to the dog evaporates in the glow of her expression. Whatever her reasons may be for ceaselessly striving to preserve a dangerous association with my kind's natural enemy, I am the only one who is granted the privilege of seeing such a smile on her face. "Was there ever any doubt?" I remark, leaning sideways to pull the seatbelt across her body, pausing infinitesimally to brush a kiss in the hollow beneath her ear.

I pull away from the curb, and once my hand releases the gearshift, Bella latches onto it with both of hers and strokes my cold skin with her fingertips, creating idle patterns that scald my nerves. My breath shudders in my chest as I fight to stay nonchalant, even as my flawless memory relives our heated embrace from earlier this morning.

An irritated huff erupts from the back seat. _Honestly…_ Alice gripes, _I should have just driven to school myself. _In a lower-pitched, heavily sarcastic tone, she says, "'Good morning, Alice. How are you today?'" Then, in her usual chipper voice, "Well, I'm just super, Bella. Thanks for asking. How about you? 'Oh, you know, the usual. Your brother spent the night in my room and things got a little hot and heavy right before my alarm went off –'"

The tires screech on the pavement, the car lurching to a stop at a red light, and Alice smirks at me in the rearview mirror. _You told me to keep an eye on her. I can't help what I see._

While I attempt to suppress a growl, Bella whips around in her seat and shoots her best friend a glare that could rival the ill-fated gaze of Medusa. "Do_ not_ watch us, Alice," she hisses, teeth bared in an impressive replica of a vampire's snarl, "or so help me, I'll…" She falters, searching for an appropriate threat. "I'll…" Her dark eyes suddenly light up with an almost feral glee. "I'll take back _every single_ article of clothing you've ever bought me."

Alice's smirk drains from her elfin face. "You wouldn't," she deadpans, and then a picture of Bella's closet standing half-empty swirls into her thoughts.

"Try me."

Bella holds her ground, her chocolate-colored irises ablaze, until Alice grimaces in surrender and slouches against the leather interior, pouting like a spoiled child. "Fine," she mutters. Then she thinks for my benefit, _I won't eavesdrop on purpose. But we both know that I can't always edit my visions. At least now I know to never bring it up._ She looks out the window, a faint grin playing across her pursed lips, amused by Bella's temper in spite of herself.

As for me, I cannot help the proud smile stretching out my mouth while Bella spins back around, a tiny, satisfied smirk on her face. With the hand still trapped within her frail hold, I raise hers to my lips and lightly kiss her knuckles, the Volvo speeding forward once the light changes.

She holds my adoring gaze for a handful of seconds before ordering half-heartedly, "Keep your eyes on the road."

With a low chuckle, I obey.

* * *

By the school day's end, Alice is her usual perky self, the altercation in the car forgotten, and she chatters on about the conversation that had started at lunch. "I'm pretty sure that Angela will get into the University of Washington. They have an excellent arts program, and I think Ben applied there, too. As for Jessica…" She snorts. "It's highly doubtful that she'll complete her major at UC Berkley. She probably won't even make it through the first semester. And that_ Lauren_ creature –" Here Alice inserts a murderous snarl. "I don't know where she the gall to brag on and on about her acceptance to _Stanford, _of all places. I just don't believe it."

She sniffs in distaste, more for effect than anything else, and catches my eye fleetingly in the mirror. _Let me test the waters for you._ In a slow, almost offhand manner, Alice says, "You should have gone for Ivy League, Bella. You definitely have the aptitude – not to mention the class – for a first-rate college experience. Maybe there's still time for you to send in an application."

"Alice, please…" Bella groans. "Not you, too." She scowls at me from the corner of her eye as though I had told my sister to broach this subject. "I've already sent my application to the University of Alaska Southeast, and unless their requirements have changed in the last three weeks, I'm pretty sure that I'll get in. And that's all there is to it," she concludes in a very final tone.

"But it couldn't hurt to have a few more options, right?" Alice responds blithely. "Just in case."

Silence fills the car for a moment, and then Bella cranes her neck to peer sidelong at the petite vampire behind us. "Are you telling me that I won't be accepted to Alaska?" Skepticism coats every word as her narrowed eyes study Alice's cheerfully blank features.

Ignoring my pointed glare reflected in the rearview mirror, Alice shrugs her thin shoulders, evasive. "I'm only saying that you shouldn't sell yourself short." She smiles brilliantly at Bella's distrustful scrutiny and throws open the door the instant the Volvo stops at the end of the long drive to the house_. Jazz and I will be away tonight, hunting near the Strait,_ she sends to me while saying aloud, "Emmett's going to wait for you. Don't forget."

In the blink of an eye, the door is closed and Alice has vanished into the trees.

I turn the car around to take Bella back to Charlie's, noting her thoughtful and – nervous? – expression in the rain-spattered glass of the passenger-side window.

After a couple of minutes, I cannot stand the suspense any longer. "What are you thinking?" I phrase the familiar question as gently as possible; if she only knew how difficult it is to hold onto my sanity whenever she becomes lost in her hidden thoughts.

"You and Emmett are hunting tonight?" she murmurs in tentative observation. Her fingers are squeezing together in her lap so tightly that the knuckles are leached of all color.

My eyes shut for a brief eternity, a bitter wash of regret and pain creating a hollow cavity in my chest. In the weeks after my return, the slow process of regaining Bella's trust began with one agonizing step at a time.

For days I could not so much as be less than a mile from her – clinging to the faint sound of her heartbeat like a lifeline. The thirst had scorched my throat into a raw, aching void, and my irises were as black as death…but any suffering on my part was inconsequential compared to Bella's anguish.

Eventually, she pleaded with me to hunt and I abided by her wish, though we both paid for my absence later that night as vicious nightmares tormented her fragile psyche, my name more often than not leaving her mouth in a strangled scream.

That was over two weeks ago. Since then, we have established a precarious balance of time spent together and apart, and her nightmares have slowly abated. But no separation is any easier on either of us, even if it is for the most basic of necessities.

Opening my eyes, I raise my hand to her cheek and caress her silken skin from temple to chin, back and forth in a soothing motion. "It will be a quick trip, I promise," I tell her in a low voice. "After all, you'll be having dinner then, as well" – her lips quirk into a weak smile – "and I will be on your doorstep at seven o'clock sharp." With my fingers, I gently turn her head in order to meet her eyes, and the soft gleam of love and trust in their dark depths gives new life to my broken spirit.

"Okay," she replies simply, and opens her door. With a dim sense of surprise, it occurs to me that we are already sitting in her father's driveway. I start to wonder exactly how long we have been here – but that question is abruptly answered by the police cruiser waiting beside the curb, the engine revving impatiently.

Bella throws an angry glare in its direction, then purposefully leans back inside the car to press her lips against mine. "Seven, on the dot," she reminds me, breathless instead of commanding, and I hum in agreement.

Charlie's severe displeasure radiates from his half-hidden mind as I pull out of the driveway, my mouth tingling with delicious heat from Bella's kiss, and she watches the Volvo coast down the street until I loop around the corner, her face disappearing from the side mirror.

Now begins the tedious torture of waiting. Of course, Emmett and I do have plans, which should make the evening arrive faster. I just have to convince my brother to accompany me one more time on this rather specific hunt.

I park the car out front, the buzzing of my family's thoughts filling my head, and as soon as I enter the house, Emmett's loud voice booms from the left, "Forget it, Edward, I'm not going with you again."_ Alice told me that you'd ask, and I'm telling you, no way, _he snipes mentally.

Hard tawny eyes fix on me once I stroll into the living room, and Emmett jabs an index finger at me from the recliner in front of the brand-new plasma TV purchased to replace the one I destroyed the night my family voted to end Bella's life. "It's a freakin' waste of time," he goes on, "and I'm not missing another game!" He jerks his chin towards the baseball field glowing vividly on the 50-inch screen.

In silence, I lean my hip against the glossy black grand piano and cross my arms, expecting such an immediate response from him.

He growls at my patient expression and looks away. _You're not going to guilt me into this,_ he vows, focusing on the television with forced attentiveness.

A soft touch brushes my arm, and Esme drifts into the room, her gentle tone breaking some of the tension. "Maybe Emmett has a point," she comments, folding herself gracefully onto the pale sofa. "Things have been quiet for weeks now." A swirl of fiery red hair and scarlet eyes floats across her mind, and I grit my teeth. "It may be possible that –"

"She won't give up." The retort comes out harsher than I anticipated, and Esme blinks at me, startled. Sighing, I rake a hand through my hair. "Revenge is the only thing driving her now," I explain in a calmer voice. "It's the only logical reason why she would risk hunting in the wolves' territory. Things_ have_ been quiet," I admit, "but that only makes me worried as to what she could be planning. I can't…" My hands clench into fists at my sides, my chest heaving with thick breaths of unneeded air, and the memory of piercing sunlight, a sea of red, the booming chimes of a clock and a desperate desire for the world to end makes my head swim. "I can't lose Bella again," I choke out.

_Oh, Edward…my son…_ Esme's familiar arms wind around my stiff shoulders, her motherly embrace beating back the hellish images of my attempted suicide. "You won't lose Bella," she whispers into my ear. "She's a part of this family now, and we can't lose either of you." She spins sideways to glance at Emmett, eyes soft yet resolute. "Each of us will do whatever we can to ensure Bella's safety. We protect our family."

Emmett slams his meaty palms on the armrests, exhaling dramatically. "You are the master of the guilt trip, Esme," he moans in defeat. Hauling his considerable bulk upright, he stomps towards the front door, elbowing his way past me, and mutters under his breath, "Let's get this over with."

With a smile, I kiss Esme's cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

_Anytime._ She gives me one last squeeze and then backs away. _By the way, you received a letter in the mail today._ A long white envelope stamped with the return address for the University of Alaska Southeast appears in her thoughts.

When a broad grin lights up my face, her golden eyes twinkle with pleasure and she teases affectionately, _It must be an acceptance, then. Congratulations._ She then gestures to the open front door. I kiss her other cheek as I dart around her and cross the threshold.

I catch up to Emmett easily; he is almost across the meadow, yelling out in a long-suffering tone, "Rose, you know where I'll be."

A metallic clang echoes from the garage several yards beyond the house. _He's such a pushover,_ she complains, mentally rolling her eyes.

At the tree line, Emmett and I launch ourselves into a sprint, heading southwest. He maintains a stony silence for half the trip, and then he finally cracks as the pungent odor of wet dog wafts toward us on the breeze. _You know I was just being an ass back at the house, right?_ he thinks seriously_. You're my brother, and I'd do anything for you. And Bella's practically my little sister. I want to help protect her._

"I know, Em," I assure him quietly. I draw up short next to a cluster of silver firs, recognizing that the border separating the Olympic forest from the Quileute lands looms less than a dozen feet in front of us.

This is the last section of boundary left unchecked for traces of Victoria, the nomad vampire bent on avenging her mate's demise by killing the reason for my existence. She came terrifyingly close to achieving her goal while I was…away…but now that my family and I have returned to Forks, her head is mine the instant she is detected within a hundred miles of Bella.

Crouching down to the leaf-strewn earth, I flare my nostrils and breathe in, searching for any hint of Victoria's sweet, ferine scent.

Emmett trots down the invisible line and mimics my stance, sniffing once before he coughs, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Whew! How can you smell_ anything_ besides those dogs?" _It's nasty,_ he adds, pretending to gag.

At my scathing glare, he straightens and rolls his eyes. _Yeah, yeah, I know – 'We have to check every inch,'_ he quotes me, stepping to the right. A branch snaps under his foot, ringing out like a gunshot through the peaceful woods, and I hear a low rumble of thought at the edge of my perception.

"Emmett." My voice is just above the sound of the wind rustling the leaves above us.

_What?_ He examines the low-hanging branches of an ancient spruce, cringing with each breath.

My gaze zeros in on a large pair of eyes flashing yellow-green in the waning daylight twenty yards to the west. "We have an audience," I inform my brother calmly.

He looks up at once, taking less than half a second to spot our furry observer, and then resumes his inspection of the nearest tree. _Took him long enough,_ he remarks, kicking the snapped branch out of his path. _Last time it felt like that big black one was waiting for us or something._

This wolf is smaller than the black one – whom Bella has identified as Sam Uley, the Alpha of the pack – and his fur is a mottled gray-brown. Cleverly, he is limiting his thoughts to his native language, which I do not yet fully comprehend. Jacob has undoubtedly told the others of my mind reading ability.

Although there is a strange undercurrent in the dog's mind, like distant voices echoing through a canyon. It is a sensation I had also picked up from Sam when he came upon us in the forest, but the voices seemed more…suppressed inside his mind.

My guess is that I am able to discern the thoughts of all those connected to the pack; Bella said that they can hear each other, and that is how they coordinate their movements. It is a fascinating concept, to be sure, but not exactly relevant at the moment.

Emmett and I pay no attention to the sentry, though we both keep him in our peripheral vision as we conduct our sweep of the border, and as my brother had predicted, there is no trace of Victoria.

_It was worth a shot,_ Emmett offers gallantly…then he immediately follows up with a childish, _but I told you so. There's nothing here to find._

I sigh, my disappointment overshadowed by the growing impatience to return to Bella. "You're right. Let's head home."

I watch our departure through the wolf's eyes until our wraith-like forms fade from his view, the dusky purple of twilight shading the low clouds as the light fragrance of an approaching rainstorm fills the air.

The first drops start to pelt the damp ground when we get back to the house. Glancing swiftly at the antique clock on the fireplace mantle, I dash upstairs to collect the manila envelope and roll of stamps resting atop my leather sofa, tucking them inside my jacket to keep dry, and am again out the door before it has completely swung shut.

The time for waiting is over. I have a promise to keep.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As you can see, after much deliberation and the constant prodding of my writing muse, I have decided to embark on another journey into Edward's mind. _Eclipse_ is my favorite book in the series, and there are so many complexities and powerful emotions and conflict that I feel compelled to interpret the events of this novel through his eyes.

This chapter is a sort of prelude to the next, which will include what takes place during the first chapter of _Eclipse._ It should be completed very shortly. After that, I'm hoping to post an update every three to four weeks, maybe sooner depending on my schedule.

I realize that some of you may be disappointed that I am not writing Book One and Two of _Breaking Dawn_ as a prequel to _"Metamorphosis"._ To be frank, I have seen and read many stories that center around the events in the first half of the book, and a few of them are so amazing that I am a bit intimidated – in the best sense, of course.

Besides, I have come across only one story that brilliantly encapsulates Edward's mindset during _Eclipse,_ and it covers just certain moments. My goal is to try and paint the whole picture, to follow Edward every step of the way through some of the most memorable events in the entire series.

I hope that you will stick with me through this adventure. Please leave a review; I appreciate feedback of any kind, and it is so encouraging to hear from those who have taken the time to read my story. Thank you!

Portions of the text and dialogue are cited from the partial manuscript of _Midnight Sun_ copyright ©2008 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 27, 38, 108-109; _New Moon Extras – Rosalie's Call_ copyright ©2006 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 3-4; _New Moon_ copyright ©2006 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 70-71, 540, 546.


	2. Ultimatum

**Chapter Notes:** Because everyone needs a little Edward for Valentine's Day…

* * *

I arrive at Bella's house with five minutes to spare. Parking the Volvo in a spot behind a beaten and outdated sedan, the conversation happening between father and daughter is perfectly audible to me even above the steady drumming of the rain and the rhythmic whirr of the windshield wipers.

In an effort to give them some privacy, I concentrate on a soft sound echoing below the voices inside the little white house: the pulsing heart of the center of my universe – my mainstay and my solace.

Leaning my head back against the seat, I turn off the engine, silencing any further distractions, and allow her heartbeat to fill my ears, each thrum counting down the seconds until I can see her face again.

Then I hear my name, and automatically focus on the spoken words, bathed in acidic sarcasm. "Isn't Edward up for a little healthy competition?" Charlie questions. I receive a vague impression from his mind of a black-haired_ boy_ towering over me, and I hold back a disgusted snarl. The very idea of that dog presenting any sort of challenge to me is insulting.

Apparently, Bella feels the same, for although I cannot see her expression, there is no mistaking the layers of irritation, outrage, and conviction in her rigid statement. "There's no competition."

Sensing a losing battle, Charlie switches tactics. "You're hurting Jake's feelings, avoiding him like this," he tells her, and it feels like a rebuke, which causes me to bristle in offense. As near as I can tell,_ Bella_ is the one who has been ignored for the last few weeks while the mutt has pouted like a sullen child on his people's reservation, refusing to so much as return her phone calls. Meanwhile, Charlie goes on, inserting, "He'd rather be just friends than nothing."

"I'm pretty sure Jake doesn't want to be friends at all," Bella spits out tartly. Then she asks, suspicious, "Where'd you get that idea, anyway?"

Embarrassment tints his thoughts; the wooden chair supporting his weight creaks as he fidgets before replying, "The subject might have come up today with Billy…"

"You and Billy gossip like old women." The sharp clang of metal against ceramic punctuates Bella's sour complaint, and I briefly hope that she has eaten at least some of her dinner – she hardly touched her lunch at school today.

Some utensil scrapes against a plate, and then Charlie sighs, murmuring in a troubled voice, "Billy's worried about Jacob. Jake's having a hard time right now… He's depressed." He pauses, but Bella does not respond, so he continues. "And then you were always so happy after spending the day with Jake," he remarks wistfully.

If Charlie had his way, I would be removed from his daughter's life permanently. And it is obvious whom he has chosen as her next suitor.

"I'm happy _now,"_ Bella retorts in a fiercely adamant snarl. The contradiction of such a selfless and inherently good creature snarling, coupled with the absurdity of her mismatched words and tone, shakes loose an amused chuckle from my chest. Charlie guffaws a second later, and Bella laughs, as well, the musical sound dancing through my head. "Okay, okay," she says, resuming their discussion. "Balance."

"And Jacob," Charlie persists, his chortles fading.

"I'll try," she promises, clearly to appease him, as there is no negotiating her discontinued relationship with the dog.

Dimly pleased, Charlie leans back in his chair – the weathered wood groans again – and he comments, "Good. Find that balance, Bella. And, oh, yeah, you've got some mail. It's by the stove."

Not bothering to wait for her to show any interest, he pushes away from the table, boots clomping across the linoleum, and the quiet_ whoosh _of heavy paper sliding along a flat surface is nearly obscured by the clatter of dishes in the sink.

"Er, thanks," Bella mumbles. The paper crinkles underneath her fingertips. "That was quick. I guess I missed the deadline on that one, too."

Charlie seems oddly eager, even impatient, for his daughter to open her mail, and he chuckles lowly in an effort to disguise it.

Remembering what Alice had said about Bella receiving her acceptance letter from Alaska Southeast today, I smile to myself and make a mental note to announce_ my_ acceptance to the same school well within Charlie's hearing range.

"It's open."

"I was curious," he says, unapologetic.

Bella's teasing smirk lightens her tone as she remarks, "I'm shocked, Sheriff. That's a federal crime."

"Oh, just read it." The impatience is prevalent now in his gruff voice.

Tiny ruffling noises interrupt the sudden quiet, and then Charlie announces with proud enthusiasm, "Congratulations. Your first acceptance." A short-lived flicker of melancholy pierces his otherwise lighthearted consciousness, but it fades quickly as he resumes his stance of a pleased parent.

"Thanks, Dad," Bella tells him sincerely.

The toe of his boot scuffs against the floor. I can picture him leaning on the counter, arms crossed, one ankle looped over the other. "We should talk about tuition. I've got some money saved up –"

Bella speaks up in stubborn denial – her usual response to any discussion involving finances. "Hey, hey, none of that. I'm not touching your retirement, Dad. I've got my college fund." The majority of which is stuffed inside an old sock that she keeps hidden in her bedroom. College fund, indeed.

"Some of these places are pretty pricey, Bells," Charlie murmurs skeptically. Then the obstinacy that his daughter must have inherited begins to filter into his words as he insists, "I want to help. You don't have to go all the way to Alaska just because it's cheaper."

Actually, the distance was Bella's condition, not a consequence. She staunchly maintains that the cost of traveling to and from Juneau will lessen her father's suspicions as to why she is unable to visit during the course of the school year.

Since she has every intention of spending her first year of college as a bloodthirsty newborn vampire struggling to adapt to my family's unconventional diet, Alaska is an ideal location for a number of reasons, including the low human population and the fact that Juneau has an average of three hundred twenty-one overcast days per year.

Though I have not given up hope that I may yet devise a means of persuading her to remain human for just a little longer… I pat the thick envelope fitted snugly within my jacket and think of the black satin box in my room, waiting for the right moment.

"I've got it covered." Bella's firm reply leaves no opening for dispute. "Besides," she adds casually, "there's lots of financial aid out there. It's easy to get loans."

I pinch my lips together to smother a chuckle. Bella has access to near-unlimited resources if she would only accept the reality that I can provide for her whatever she wishes, and yet she is too pigheaded to take advantage of my wealth.

Charlie seems a bit dissatisfied, but drops the subject. However, a trickle of unease slithers into his clouded mind, and he starts to say, "So…" He trails off, intensely reluctant.

In that instant, I receive an unexpected glimpse into his thoughts – a hazy image of Bella and I sitting on his threadbare couch, arms around one another, her dark head resting upon my shoulder. Then, like a snapshot, the image focuses closely on Bella's expression. Her quiet contentment and soft smile warms my cold granite body from the inside out.

"So what?" Bella prompts him after a handful of seconds.

"Nothing," he answers. "I was just…" A puff of breath whistles through his pursed lips. The unease blanketing his mind has strengthened tenfold while he has dawdled in forming the question he dreads voicing. "Just wondering what…Edward's plans are for next year?"

"Oh." There is a world of apprehension, vagueness, and resolve in that one mumbled word.

Sensing that she may need me to field any barbed inquiries from her father, I glance at the digital clock on the dashboard. As if on cue, the numbers advance to display the start time for my allotted visiting hours, and I exit the car, moving so swiftly that the rain barely succeeds in dampening my hair and clothes.

My feet tread soundlessly up the porch steps while Charlie demands inside, "Well?"

I raise my hand and knock on the door three times. A bubble of excitement swells in my chest, my entire body humming with energy, though it has only been a few hours since I last saw Bella.

Her pulse skips a beat in response to the signal of my arrival, and then begins to flutter like a bird's wings as she shouts, "Coming!"

"Go away," Charlie grumbles under his breath.

Bella's hasty footsteps thudding towards the door cancel out the brief flicker of annoyance, and I smile with pleasure as she throws open the door, her breathing quickened, and the full force of her countenance overwhelms my heightened senses.

As always, the appealingly sweet fragrance of her blood fills my lungs with the scent of freesia and my throat bursts into flames – but the predatory instinct has been tamed into a scarcely noticeable involuntary reaction. I pay it no more attention than humans would of swallowing or blinking their eyelids. Instead, I let the warm allure of the fragile woman I love flow through me like the ocean's tide, serving as a constant reminder that she is alive, and here.

Her brown eyes sparkle and beckon like a fathomless sea, the dark depths containing countless secrets while at the same time declaring her joy at my presence and the unwavering love she gives so freely to someone like me. Her ridiculously full lips, tinted the same blushing pink as the delicate flush blossoming on her cheeks, bow into a tender smile. I would move heaven and earth for the privilege of seeing that smile on her face every day for the rest of eternity.

Thick mahogany locks slip over one shoulder as she practically lunges for my left hand, and as soon as I register the movement I find myself unconsciously reaching for her at the same time.

Fire and ice crackle and spark against one another as her fingers weave through mine, and she releases a tiny sigh while I feel some unknown tension seep from my muscles, her smoldering touch both calming and arousing.

"Hey," she greets softly, her smile tipping to one side.

The rosy glow painting her cream skin invites me closer, and I raise our knitted fingers to gently caress that enticing heat with the back of my hand, asking her in a low voice, "How was your afternoon?"

An almost imperceptible wince creases her brow. "Slow."

"For me, as well," I reply at once. My outing with Emmett was merely a distraction from the dull ache that chafes my frozen heart whenever Bella is not within range of any of my senses. Every precious second spent in her company must be savored, and I set out to do just that.

Moving our hands away from her cheek, I guide her dainty wrist towards my face and breathe in deeply, my nose gliding across the paper-thin skin covering the ambrosia pumping through her veins. My eyes close with genuine bliss as I appreciate her succulent bouquet – while also knowing full well that I will never again crave the ecstasy her blood induces.

The scorching flames clawing at my throat fade into the background with minimal effort, and I am stirred from my pleasant reverie only when Charlie's stomping reverberates through the floorboards, heading in our direction.

I lower our clasped hands – Bella tightens her grip in stubborn determination, although I have no intention of letting go simply for her father's sake – and peer into the hallway while using my free hand to shut the front door. "Good evening, Charlie," I say politely when he appears.

Bella glares over her shoulder after he responds with a hostile grunt and crosses his arms over his chest, adopting the intimidating stance of a bodyguard or security personnel. Perhaps that form of parental supervision would cause some stress in the average male teenager, but to someone with my…experience…it is frankly a bit amusing.

I ignore his antagonistic stare and look down at Bella, pulling the manila envelope from my jacket while saying, "I brought another set of applications." Playfully, I waggle the littlest finger of my right hand so she will notice the roll of stamps above my knuckle.

She groans in frustration, which is precisely the reaction I had expected, and frowns disapprovingly. Her dark eyes seem to study my expression very carefully, as though she is trying to discover how I have managed to locate over half a dozen colleges that will accept applicants so near the usual deadline.

Smiling with shrewd enjoyment, I decide to issue a gentle reminder of the level of influence I can wield on her behalf in the world of academia. "There are still a few open deadlines. And a few places willing to make exceptions."

It takes less than a second for the implications behind my words to sink in, and then she scowls darkly, her bottom lip jutting out in an adorable yet tantalizing pout.

Laughter pours out of me in a quiet burst. Even when she is aggravated, she holds me captive to her every whim. However, it is in her best interest to continue her education, so I begin to walk towards the kitchen, drawing her along after me as I suggest, "Shall we?"

With an irritated huff, Charlie tramps behind us, hovering beside the refrigerator while Bella finishes clearing the table and I lay out a decent array of forms.

I catch a quick glimpse of a tattered paperback before Bella snags it and places it on the counter, where the title is just visible along the cracked and faded binding: _Wuthering Heights._ I raise an eyebrow at her as our gazes touch, and she looks away. I cannot understand why that horrid novel appeals to her – so much so that she would choose to read it over and over again. I have half a mind to ask her despite our 'audience', but alas, Charlie decides to speak up.

"Speaking of college applications, Edward," he mutters, like each syllable leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He rarely addresses me directly; whatever is niggling his curiosity must be powerful enough to surmount his resentment of my continued presence in his daughter's life. "Bella and I were just talking about next year. Have you decided where you're going to school?" He delivers the question like a challenge, his eyes daring me to respond.

He has every right to his hatred of me, so I answer respectfully, "Not yet. I've received a few acceptance letters, but I'm still weighing my options."

"Where have you been accepted?" he urges. His hazy thoughts swirl with grudging interest, self-loathing for expressing that interest, and that same twinge of unease I had detected earlier.

In as unassuming a way as possible, I list out the usual choices – each of which I have already attended at some point in the last eighty years. "Syracuse…Harvard…Dartmouth…and I just got accepted to the University of Alaska Southeast today." Shifting a little in my chair, I wink at Bella. Her shoulders jiggle faintly with a smothered giggle.

Charlie's expression is awed, though he vainly attempts to conceal it beneath a glower. "Harvard? Dartmouth?" He cannot completely banish the admiration from his tone while he admits, "Well that's pretty…that's something." Then a spark of foreboding ignites in his mind, and he regards me suspiciously for a moment before going on. "Yeah, but the University of Alaska…you wouldn't really consider that when you could go Ivy League. I mean, your father would want you to…"

"Carlisle's always fine with whatever I choose to do," I interject smoothly. Charlie needs to understand that I am physically incapable of being apart from Bella, and since I have grand designs in regard to our future together, I truly wish for him to realize that I love his daughter more than anything and will never abandon her again.

Lofty ambitions, to be sure – but far easier said than done, judging by the derisive snort I receive from Charlie. "Hmph."

The soft snap of Bella clenching her teeth echoes across the kitchen table, and I gaze at her in reassurance, a faint, apologetic smile curving my lips. It grieves me to be the source of animosity between her and her father, especially given that their time together is rapidly nearing an end.

All of a sudden, her entire demeanor changes. Grinning brightly, her chocolate-brown irises glittering with mischief, she says with an air of childlike playfulness, "Guess what, Edward?"

"What, Bella?" I ask innocently, joining in her little game.

She points at the envelope lying askew on top of her worn copy of _Wuthering Heights._ "I just got_ my_ acceptance to the University of Alaska!"

I smile, making a conscious effort to keep my smugness under control. "Congratulations! What a coincidence," I add, and inwardly rejoice as the tiniest snort of laughter bubbles out of her, gracing my ears like the sweetest music.

Dark eyes narrowed into accusing slits, Charlie shifts his glare from one of us to the other, his thoughts broadcasting a bitter swill of acknowledgment and petulance.

As the seconds tick by, I block out the constant hum of surrounding minds and focus on Charlie, attempting to penetrate the unusual fog that partially masks his thoughts from my talent.

A surly grumble whispers through my perception a beat later. _Never going to get rid of him now…_

Before I can fully contemplate my brief success, Charlie mutters, "Fine." His foul mood leaks into his next words even though he is addressing his daughter. "I'm going to go watch the game, Bella. Nine-thirty," he commands, and takes a half step towards the doorway to the living room.

"Er, Dad?" Bella pipes up, eyebrows arched in expectation. "Remember the very recent discussion about my freedom…?"

I blink once, taken aback by this turn of events, while Charlie heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Right. Okay, _ten-_thirty. You still have a curfew on school nights." He points an index finger at her for emphasis.

This critical piece of information had escaped my notice earlier. Alice had not seen anything about a discontinuance of Bella's undeserved punishment, which means Charlie either made a spur-of-the-moment decision – highly unlikely – or there are stipulations to be fulfilled. Regardless, I cannot temper my excitement as I ask, "Bella's no longer grounded?"

Charlie's eyes cut to me, and his jaw bunches before he replies through his teeth, "Conditionally. What's it to you?" There is more venom in his tone than is currently in my mouth. Bella frowns in severe displeasure at him, but he does not appear to notice.

"It's just good to know," I tell him, emulating my father's serene mannerism. "Alice has been itching for a shopping partner, and I'm sure Bella would love to see some city lights." I smile softly in her direction.

An unexpected mental blast of a fearful_ NO! _slams into my brain, catching me off-guard, and Charlie's face turns an unhealthy ruddy purple. "No!" he denies aloud, lips stretched over his teeth in a livid grimace.

Startled, Bella exclaims, "Dad! What's the problem?"

His jaw works for a moment, like he is forcing his teeth apart, and then he growls, "I don't want you going to Seattle right now."

"Huh?" She stares up at him in confusion.

"I told you about that story in the paper –"

I immediately spot the raindrop-dappled newsprint thrown on the counter and dash to collect it before either of them can blink, scanning the front-page story with growing trepidation while Charlie continues his tirade.

"– there's some kind of gang on a killing spree in Seattle and I want you to steer clear, okay?" He stares at his only child sternly, but the fear that something might happen to her weighs heavy on his mind, making his expression more desperate than I am sure he would have liked.

Bella dismisses his legitimate concern for her safety with a roll of her dark eyes. The girl has a complete and utter lack of self-preservation. "Dad," she remarks in a condescending voice, "there's a better chance that I'll get struck by lightning than that the one day I'm in Seattle –"

I step into the conversation, my gaze skimming the black type. "No, that's fine, Charlie. I didn't mean Seattle. I was thinking Portland, actually." Coming to a particularly insightful paragraph, I frown and say truthfully, "I wouldn't have Bella in Seattle, either. Of course not." Especially if my analysis of this article is correct. Seattle is not safe for any human right now.

In the corner of my eye, I can see Bella's disbelieving face, but Charlie eventually calms, the angry red flush fading from his cheeks. With a shrug, he tosses out a negligent, "Fine," and clomps into the living room. The TV clicks on seconds later – announcers commentating on the evening's upcoming basketball game.

Despite her usual impatience, Bella waits a full two minutes until she demands, "What –"

"Hold on," I caution, detecting Charlie's veiled mistrust while I ruffle the pages of the newspaper, intent on reading the rest of the article. Still absorbing the ominous words, I use one hand to guide the first and most important application towards Bella, instructing quietly, "I think you can recycle your essays for this one. Same questions."

She sighs in resignation and picks up the pen, scratching out her answers in her loopy cursive.

While she writes, I finish with the newspaper and place it on the floor, disliking the current direction of my thoughts immensely.

My gaze drifts to the night-darkened kitchen window, and I wish fleetingly that I could be as ignorant as the people of this cloudy little town – while also knowing that such ignorance is not possible.

It is all laid out so clearly: unexplained disappearances, a total lack of physical evidence aside from the mangled corpses of five random people, too easily found by the authorities…

A loud snort breaks into my dark thoughts, and I glance away from the window just as Bella pushes the application aside as though disgusted.

"Bella?" I murmur questioningly.

"Be serious, Edward," she says, reproachful. _"Dartmouth?"_ Her tone ascends an octave as she expresses her incredulity.

Picking up the discarded paperwork, I meet her dubious glare patiently and set the application back in front of her. "I think you'd like New Hampshire," I reply in a gentle voice, smiling a little. "There's a full complement of night courses for me, and the forests are very conveniently located for the avid hiker." My lips twist into her favorite crooked grin as I conclude with, "Plentiful wildlife."

Her nostrils flare the tiniest bit as she inhales a deep breath, apparently striving for calm, and she looks at me with a dangerous glint in her brown irises.

_My stubborn, stubborn girl._ "I'll let you pay me back," I assure her soothingly, "if that makes you happy. If you want, I can charge you interest."

"Like I could even get in without some enormous bribe," she gripes, throwing up a hand in exasperation. Her heartbeat accelerates, and she scrutinizes my relaxed features, wondering aloud, "Or was that part of the loan? The new Cullen wing of the library? Ugh!" Flinging herself against the back of her chair, she crosses her arms over her chest with a huff. "Why are we having this discussion again?" she asks wearily.

Though I could list a myriad assortment of reasons, I instead gaze at her with soft, pleading eyes and murmur, "Will you just fill out the application, please, Bella? It won't hurt you to apply."

Rather than succumbing to my regular form of persuasion, Bella locks her jaw and retorts, "You know what? I don't think I will." The glint in her eyes has intensified into sparks of ire – a clear sign that she is about to do something spontaneous and potentially unsafe.

Challenging me with a fierce glare, her slim hand reaches for the half-completed forms – no doubt to pitch them into the trashcan – but I rescue the papers before she moves more than a few inches, carefully hiding them inside my jacket once again.

It takes her about five seconds to register the application's disappearance, and then she fixes me with an accusing glower. "What are you doing?" she orders, stymied.

As entertained as I am with her adorable kittenish fury, I conceal my grin and answer coolly, "I sign your name better than you do yourself. You've already written the essays." One way or another, the finished application of Isabella Marie Swan would reach Dartmouth within the week – and she_ will_ get accepted.

Bella sulks for a minute or so, and then she shoots a wary glance at the kitchen doorway while leaning across the tabletop. Stray tendrils of her mahogany hair curl onto the worn surface, and my fingers twitch with the longing to feel the silken strands against my skin.

"You're going way overboard with this, you know," she whispers, the warmth of her breath caressing my lips, and I swallow once, willing the growing hunger into submission. Now is not the time for such adolescent indulgence. I focus intently on her words as she goes on. "I really don't need to apply anywhere else. I've been accepted in Alaska. I can almost afford the first semester's tuition. It's as good an alibi as any." Her mouth presses into a firm line. "There's no need to throw away a bunch of money, no matter whose it is," she states decisively.

The chasm in my chest that had formed when I'd left her threatens to split open and pull me down into the black abyss of nothingness once again. She is so eager to throw away her one chance to truly live and join me in this eternal, unchanging existence.

While I have come to terms over these past few weeks with the knowledge that a small part of me clings to the hope that her precious soul will not be burned away when the venom courses through her veins…the rest of me has been reduced to a convoluted mass of fear, desire, agitation, and a ferocious need to make Bella understand exactly what she will be sacrificing by becoming one of us.

I feel my expression contort, betraying my internal struggle, but I cannot muster the strength to pretend otherwise. "Bella –" I breathe her name quietly, pained.

"Don't start," she counters, her tone softer but no less determined. "I agree that I need to go through the motions for Charlie's sake, but we both know I'm not going to be in any condition to go to school next fall. To be anywhere near people."

Summoned by her words, the image of Bella as a newborn vampire – marble-skinned, scarlet-eyed, her slender arms looped around Alice in easy companionship – swims into my mind's eye.

My own time as a newly awakened vampire I can sketchily recall, but only in flashes: brief memories of Carlisle's endless patience, my exercises in harnessing incredible strength and speed…and bloodlust, always the bloodlust, searing my throat like molten lava each time I caught the slightest whiff of human blood.

It will be different for Bella. She knows for the most part what to expect, although knowledge is a far cry from experience, and she is confident that she will regain control of herself in a year or two. Despite my fears that she will resent immortality, I can no longer deny the fact that the thought of forever with Bella at my side fills me with incandescent joy.

That same joy has echoed distantly through my being each time Alice hints at the future with visions of white lace and wedding vows – and the dream of tying myself to Bella, and her to me, in every possible way before the change is what motivates me to speak a gentle reminder. "I thought the timing was still undecided. You might enjoy a semester or two of college. There are a lot of human experiences you've never had."

"I'll get to those afterward," she replies flippantly.

I resist the impulse to sigh in dejection. She is missing the point. "They won't be_ human_ experiences afterward. You don't get a second chance at humanity, Bella," I tell her, a note of sadness in my voice.

She sighs, her shoulders slumping as though she is exhausted, and then she leans an elbow on the table and cups her neck with a hand, her hair spilling to one side. "You've got to be reasonable about the timing, Edward," she insists. "It's just too dangerous to mess around with."

"There's no danger yet," I respond at once. Threats loom on the horizon, to be sure, but are not so immediate that Bella has to surrender her beating heart right after graduation.

From the cynical quirk of her brow, I guess that she is not inclined to agree.

Her dark eyes drift sideways, and she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, a little V marring her forehead as she loses herself in her silent thoughts. I swallow my frustration and watch her shifting expressions intently, hoping to glean some inkling of what is happening inside that beautiful head of hers.

Suddenly she jerks upright in her seat, her blank stare widening almost in panic – which changes into distress as she winces, her face tilted downward, a study of light and shadow.

I cannot bear to see her suffer. "Bella," I call tenderly, willing her to look at me. She raises her eyes, and I feel my expression twist to match hers, my stone heart writhing in grief. "There's no hurry. I won't let anyone hurt you," I vow, trying to discern the swirl of emotion in her chocolate irises. "You can take all the time you need." This choice is hers and hers alone, no matter how badly I may want it, and I will do everything in my power to make certain that she is not robbed of any opportunities in her human life.

A weak smile flickers across her mouth. "I want to hurry," she whispers, the earnestness in her tone a feeble disguise for the worry still clouding her delicate features. Then she attempts to make light of the situation, joking, "I want to be a monster, too."

With those words, she effectively pushes me over the edge. The thin threads restraining my hair-trigger temper snap, and I grit my teeth to hold back a growl. "You have no idea what you're saying," I mutter curtly.

Snatching up the newspaper from where I had laid it on the floor, I hurl it onto the table and Bella jumps back in surprise, though I am too furious at the moment to regret my abrupt behavior. I jab my index finger at the glaring black headline. I had not intended to share this with her so soon, but her careless remark has left me no alternative.

Bella peers curiously at the front page, her eyes still rounded in bewilderment at my actions, and after a few seconds a confused frown pulls at the corners of her lips. "What does that have to do with anything?"

My ribs vibrate with another muted rumble. I push it down forcefully. _Patience, Edward… she doesn't realize what is happening in Seattle. _Striving for calm, I answer her in a low, controlled hiss, "Monsters are not a joke, Bella."

She studies the bold text again, and then glances up at me, stunned. "A…a _vampire_ is doing this?" she asks, scarcely louder than a whisper. Her pulse thunders in my ears – a disjointed tempo that mirrors the horrified comprehension on her pale face.

I smile humorlessly, explaining in a cold, detached voice, "You'd be surprised, Bella, at how often my kind are the source behind the horrors in your human news. It's easy to recognize, when you know what to look for." My finger trails down the newsprint, following the line of paragraphs spelling out the handiwork of a vicious, uninhibited immortal. "The information here indicates a newborn vampire is loose in Seattle. Bloodthirsty, wild, out of control. The way we all were." The way Bella herself will be when she awakens from three days of agonizing torment.

I banish that thought quickly with a sharp jerk of my head – too fast for her to notice – but she has averted her eyes, looking down at the paper.

"We've been monitoring the situation for a few weeks," I go on, void of any inflection. Jasper was the first to notice the pattern; given his history, he naturally ascertained the presence of a newborn within the city after the initial two disappearances, which has since escalated to five. "All the signs are there – the unlikely disappearances, always in the night, the poorly disposed-of corpses, the lack of other evidence… Yes, someone brand-new. And no one seems to be taking responsibility for the neophyte…"

Taking a slow breath, my anger simmering down to a more manageable level, I recall the discussion my family had conducted last night before I returned to Bella's bedroom. "Well, it's not our problem," I say with finality. "We wouldn't even pay attention to the situation if it wasn't going on so close to home. Like I said, this happens all the time. The existence of monsters results in monstrous consequences."

Bella cannot seem to tear her gaze from the newspaper. As the silence lengthens, I begin to notice a tightness in her frame, the rigid set of her spine, and the air shudders in her lungs when she exhales.

Ashamed of my rudeness, I flatten my palm against the paper and decide to remove it from her view…when she suddenly whispers in a quivering voice, "It won't be the same for me. You won't let me be like that. We'll live in Antarctica."

I snort in wry amusement. Of all places, only Bella would think of that frigid, barren continent as a suitable location for her newborn years. And there is just one readily available food source. "Penguins," I comment sarcastically. "Lovely." A revolted shiver pricks my nerve endings as I imagine capturing a slippery flightless bird and drinking its fish-flavored blood.

Wobbly laughter rings out from Bella. She slides the newspaper from under my hand and plunks it onto the floor without a second glance, then rests her forearms on the empty tabletop. "Alaska, then, as planned," she reaffirms in a lighter tone. "Only somewhere much more remote than Juneau – somewhere with grizzlies galore." She looks up for my approval.

I nod, agreeing, "Better. There are polar bears, too. Very fierce. And the wolves get quite large."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know that I have made a terrible mistake, for Bella's jaw drops and she breathes out in a sharp puff, as though someone has punched her in the stomach.

Staring at her in alarm, I ask, "What's wrong?" But I needn't have bothered. Once I take in her shocked expression, the dismay and hurt in her brown eyes, I understand.

'Wolves', I had said.

The dog.

_Jacob._

"Oh." My limbs seem to ice over, the stone-like hardness of my body becoming rigid while I fight to maintain control of the volatile instincts brewing inside me because of her reaction to my thoughtless remark.

Logically, I know that she and her father had discussed the mutt over dinner, so of course any notion of him or his pack of protectors would be triggered in her mind by my words. And the dog had been a good friend to her after I had torn her apart with my blasphemous lies and vanished from her world.

However, the century-old vampire in me – who has finally found his mate and will not tolerate losing her ever again – bristles with jealousy and fear, demanding to eliminate this potential rival.

Bella is still watching me, her gaze wary and distraught, and I compose myself enough to form a stiff reply. "Never mind the wolves, then, if the idea is offensive to you." My manner is coldly formal; I do not trust myself to relax my stance even a millimeter, or I risk collapsing into a destructive rage.

"He was my best friend, Edward." Her subdued voice trips a little over the past tense verb. "Of course the idea offends me." She twists her hands together on the table, clenching and releasing her small fingers in a nervous gesture.

I look at her hands for a brief time, noting the subtle changes in their color as the pressure of her grip strengthens…and I remember seeing those pale, perfect hands cradled within two large red-brown palms, an image I received from several minds including the mutt's.

I lock my knees in place and raise my head, focusing on the chipped yellow paint of the cupboards behind Bella's head. "Please forgive my thoughtlessness," I recite mechanically. The idea of her skin touching his in any way both sickens and enrages me, yet I cannot seem to get that memory out of my head. "I shouldn't have suggested that."

"Don't worry about it." Her response echoes faintly as she speaks towards the tabletop, head bowed and shoulders hunched. Her hair is a curtain of tousled chestnut and mahogany around her cheekbones, shading her features, and although she is mere feet away, the sudden distance between us feels like miles.

The subject of the mongrel and his kin has become a hindrance in our relationship.

And I hate it.

I hate it because this obstacle is something that I have wrought with my own hands. If I had never left, never tried to force Bella to live a normal life without any influence from me or my dangerous world, she would not have gotten involved with the dog and spent so much time in the company of young werewolves. The blame rests solely on my shoulders, and I have to deal with the consequences. Which means that I owe Bella a genuine apology.

I carefully unwind the tension in my muscles, rejoicing when I remain in control of my emotions, and my features soften while I regard the distressed angel seated in front of me, her lowered eyes fixated on her tightly clasped hands. Reaching across the table, I slip my finger under her chin and gently coax her to lift her head, waiting to speak until she meets my gaze. "Sorry," I murmur in quiet sincerity. "Really."

The warm glow returns to her chocolate-brown eyes, relief chasing the stressed lines from her brow, and she sighs a little, the heated sweetness of her breath on my face serving as a tangible reminder that in spite of our difference of opinion concerning the dog, she is here now with me. "I know," she says softly. "I know it's not the same thing. I shouldn't have reacted that way. It's just that…" She starts to worry her lower lip again. This particular habit of hers seeks to undermine my self-control with each passing day. I studiously focus on her eyes while she continues. "Well, I was already thinking about Jacob before you came over." Bella pauses, examining my gaze – and discovers something that causes her to plead with me. "Charlie says Jake is having a hard time. He's hurting right now, and…it's my fault." Her expression crumples in sadness.

Wanting to console her, I keep my hand under her chin and lightly stroke the dimple beneath her bottom lip with the pad of my thumb. "You've done nothing wrong, Bella," I soothe. Her selfless nature compels her to shoulder the burdens of the world, and though I admire her altruism, she has no business trying to mend the broken heart of a deluded, lovesick pup.

She takes a deep breath as though bracing herself. "I need to make it better, Edward," she persists, beseeching yet resolved. "I owe him that. And it's one of Charlie's conditions, anyway –"

My eyes narrow, my mouth flattening into a hard line. Charlie can issue all the conditions he wants – it makes no difference. Bella will not be going anywhere_ near_ that mongrel. I would willingly break the treaty and risk open war with the pack before I allow her to be as close to him as she was that afternoon in the woods outside her father's house. "You know it's out of the question for you to be around a werewolf unprotected, Bella." My steely tone leaves no room for compromise. "And it would break the treaty if any of us cross over onto their land. Do you want us to start a war?"

"Of course not!" she exclaims, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushing with a burst of warm color.

Her heat seeps into my fingertips, thawing the iciness from my posture a bit, and the sensation only reinforces my decision to ensure her safety at any cost – even if it means sacrificing a friendship that she obviously holds very dear. I will not abide anything that has the slightest chance of endangering her life… because I know what it feels like to think I have lost her forever. "Then there's really no point in discussing the matter further," I reply bluntly, and lower my hand, already missing the warmth of her skin on mine.

Bella scowls in my direction, her eyes blazing with indignation while her lips purse in sullen displeasure.

I look aside for a moment, wracking my brain for a new subject, and my attention lands on the well-worn paperback sprawled on the counter behind Bella's chair. I smile faintly, still cautious of her rare but explosive temper, and begin in a mild, teasing voice, "I'm glad Charlie has decided to let you out – you're sadly in need of a visit to the bookstore. I can't believe you're reading _Wuthering Heights_ again." I shake my head in mock-disbelief. "Don't you know it by heart yet?"

The angry light in her dark irises flares when I mention her beloved book, and then she retorts tersely, "Not all of us have photographic memories."

"Photographic memory or not," I observe, leaning back in my seat, "I don't understand why you like it. The characters are ghastly people who ruin each others' lives." It has been quite some time since I last read the novel, but I remember feeling distinctly apathetic throughout the chapters, wondering how it could ever be labeled as a 'romance'. "I don't know how Heathcliff and Cathy ended up being ranked with couples like Romeo and Juliet or Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. It isn't a love story, it's a hate story." I tilt my head to the side as I wait for her response, certain that her passion for her favorite book will succeed in fully distracting her from the previous conversation.

Sure enough, she rises to the challenge. Her heartbeat gathers speed, and the blush on her cheeks spreads to her ears, the floral scent of her blood saturating the room, but I pay the dull ache in my throat little heed. Her ardent fury is breathtakingly exquisite – even as she snaps at me, "You have some serious issues with the classics."

"Perhaps it's because I'm not impressed by antiquity," I muse nonchalantly, celebrating to myself that this diversion has captured her attention, and my lips flex into an easy grin. Still, her intense devotion to the novel has stirred my curiosity, and I am suddenly consumed with the need to know why she feels so strongly about this particular work of fiction.

My gaze roves over her inflamed features, and then I fall into her burning brown eyes, unconsciously leaning forward while I ask, fascinated, "Honestly, though, why_ do_ you read it over and over?" Drawn to the rosy softness of her skin, I extend a hand across the table and frame the side of her face with my palm, the scorching warmth stinging my nerves pleasurably. "What is it that appeals to you?" I implore her for an answer with my eyes, desperate to understand in some small way the mysterious, intricate tapestry of her mind.

Caught off guard by my rapt interest, Bella's livid expression melts away, her breath hitching for a moment before she assembles a reply. "I'm not sure." She stumbles a bit over the words, but grows in confidence as she continues, her eyes boring into my own. "I think it's something about the inevitability. How nothing can keep them apart – not her selfishness, or his evil, or even death, in the end…"

I must admit that I had never considered the story in that light. It is remarkable, really, that both her thoughts and mine are as one when it comes to the fated sense surrounding our relationship. I have always known from the first night I heard her murmur my name in her sleep that there will never be anyone else for me, and after what transpired this spring, I have come to realize that Bella feels the same. We are two halves of a whole, and despite the vast array of circumstances that have tried to separate us – her humanity, my monstrous nature, the attempts on her life and my own stupidity – we have always found our way back to each other.

Yes, I can see all too clearly why the tragic tale of Heathcliff and Catherine fascinates her so.

Coming back to myself, I give her a lopsided smirk. "I still think it would be a better story if either of them had one redeeming quality," I quip teasingly.

"I think that may be the point," she contends in a quiet, firm voice. "Their love_ is_ their only redeeming quality." She leans a little further into my hand, her soft gaze clear and beautiful as a star-filled sky, and I almost blurt out that_ my_ sole redeeming quality is the fact that a pure soul like hers finds the tainted, fractured creature I am worthy of her love.

Nevertheless, I maintain our easy banter and remark in a lighthearted tone, "I hope you have better sense than that – to fall in love with someone so…malignant."

Bella smiles faintly. "It's a bit late for me to worry about who I fall in love with," she murmurs, and a trembling sensation stirs in the pit of my stomach, my selfish heart rejoicing that I can again call her mine. "But even without the warning," she goes on nonchalantly, "I seem to have managed fairly well."

I cannot help but laugh in ironic amusement. This from the girl whose outrageously tempting blood nearly caused her death on her first day of school, whose silent mind and quiet beauty possessed a vampire to follow her every waking and sleeping moment until he could no longer resist – who reciprocated the same vampire's love even though it almost took her life on more than one occasion – who was visibly and painfully shattered when he cut himself out of her life in a foolish attempt to protect her – whose steadfast devotion and selfless courage drove her to save him from a misguided plot to commit suicide, who showed him such grace when he begged for her forgiveness – and who is willing to give up everything she knows in order to be with him forever as a cold, unchanging immortal.

Yes…she has managed quite well, indeed.

"I'm glad_ you_ think so," I say through a low chuckle.

She quirks an eyebrow, a mischievous light in her chocolate irises. "Well, I hope you're smart enough to stay away from someone so selfish. Catherine is really the source of all the trouble, not Heathcliff."

If Bella is trying to allude to herself as being selfish, nothing could be farther from the truth. However, I promise her solemnly, "I'll be on my guard," while my thumb greedily skims across her supple skin, tracing the light shadow under her eye.

A warm, fragrant sigh escapes from her, and she places her small hand over mine, pressing it closer to her face. The exhilarating heat begins to travel throughout my entire arm, instilling the fantasy that I am as alive as her.

I bask in the feeling for one perfect second…until Bella brings stark reality crashing down upon the illusion. "I need to see Jacob," she states, as though it is an unavoidable fact.

I shut my eyes, hiding from her too perceptive gaze. I do not want to waste any more precious time arguing with her about the dog, but I will not negotiate this risk to her safety. "No."

She tries to plead with me again, insisting, "It's truly not dangerous at all. I used to spend all day in La Push with the whole lot of them, and nothing ever happened." She falters slightly at the end, and I open my eyes in time to see her lick her lips nervously, the palm resting on the back of my hand turning clammy with sweat as her pulse quickens.

Staving off a flash of panic at the imagined image of Bella cowering from a massive bundle of fur, muscle and raw ferocity, I try not to dwell on what she must be remembering that would cause her to react in this way and slowly nod. "Werewolves are unstable," I remind her. The mutt had barely held it together at our last meeting; if he had phased, I would have had no choice but to end his life, though it would have been a precarious fight with Bella there. "Sometimes, the people near them get hurt." My voice is low, somber. "Sometimes, they get killed."

Her mouth opens, preparing to disagree – but then her brow crinkles, disconcerted by some memory of her time among the dogs, and I hold my tongue, waiting with a grim sense of satisfaction for her to acknowledge the danger her 'friends' present.

Finally, she shakes her head, refusing to admit the truth, her expression desperately stubborn. "You don't know them," she whispers.

She wants so much to believe the best of everyone – but this is simply a fact of their nature. The wolves are volatile and instinct-driven; this new pack is too young and inexperienced to have gained the needed self-control to rein in the urge to phase when provoked. Even those we had first encountered when the treaty was formed were a hotheaded band of brothers. "I know them better than you think, Bella," I point out softly. "I was here the last time."

"The last time?" She stares at me, uncomprehending.

"We started crossing paths with the wolves about seventy years ago…" It takes me less than a minute to recall every detail of those tense confrontations, and I summarize our history with the Quileutes as objectively as possible for Bella's sake. "We had just settled near Hoquiam. That was before Alice and Jasper were with us. We outnumbered them, but that wouldn't have stopped it from turning into a fight if not for Carlisle." My father has a great gift for defusing any potentially violent situation, and his compassion knows no bounds. A true humanitarian. "He managed to convince Ephraim Black that coexisting was possible, and eventually we made the truce."

Bella starts just noticeably when I mention the Blacks' ancestor. Rather than call attention to it, I mutter under my breath, "We thought the line had died out with Ephraim. That the genetic quirk which allowed the transmutation had been lost…" After seventy-odd years, why would the wolves return_ now_ when there has been no indication of any strange activity in the area since before my family took up residence again?

It seems to me that these events were all set in motion by a single catalyst: my personal danger magnet.

I glare at her critically, though there is little force behind it, and accuse, "Your bad luck seems to get more potent every day. Do you realize that your insatiable pull for all things deadly was strong enough to recover a pack of mutant canines from extinction?" I purse my lips to hide a grin. "If we could bottle your luck, we'd have a weapon of mass destruction on our hands." My finger lightly taps the end of her nose.

The dumbfounded look on her face is not the reaction I had expected. After a handful of seconds, she finds her voice and replies, astonished, "But_ I_ didn't bring them back. Don't you know?"

"Know what?" My head tilts sideways as I study her expression, the voracious curiosity to hear her thoughts gnawing at my sanity.

"My bad luck had nothing to do with it." Bella seems almost…sympathetic as she explains in a logical tone, "The werewolves came back because the vampires did."

Eyes widening, I become absolutely motionless in surprise, forgetting for the moment to uphold my human façade. Could this really be a simple matter of cause and effect? Or is Bella's information merely a part of the folklore the Quileutes have passed down through the generations?

She interrupts my frenetic internal questioning. "Jacob told me that your family being here set things in motion," she says hesitantly, her gaze shadowed by a slight frown. "I thought you would already know…"

Irritation flares within me. Of course the dog would cast my family as the villains in the story he spun to Bella. He would use any means necessary to sway her loyalty. "Is that what they think?" I comment icily, narrowing my eyes as I wonder what other fables he had filled Bella's head with in my absence.

Leery of my temper, her fingers curl gently around my hand still cradling her face, and the burst of fiery warmth clears my thinking enough to focus on the rest of her explanation. "Edward, look at the facts. Seventy years ago, you came here, and the werewolves showed up. You come back now, and the werewolves show up again. Do you think that's a coincidence?" She lifts her eyebrows in question.

I blink once, the rigid stillness leaving my frame as I consider her words. Her reasoning is sound; I will have to share her evidence with my father sometime this evening, and I say as much aloud. "Carlisle will be interested in that theory."

"Theory," she scoffs, rolling her eyes, and drops her hand onto the table with a dull thump.

My palm slips from her cheek while I mull over the possibility that the presence of vampires – namely, my family and myself – would trigger the gene encoded into the Quileute bloodlines that allows their sons to change into foul-smelling furry guardians.

Gazing unseeingly out the window into the rainy night, I am confronted by a disturbing thought. As our numbers have increased since the treaty was established, has the pack grown, as well? Are_ we_ the ones who will be outnumbered the next time our paths cross?

I pull away from these somewhat unsettling notions and turn back to Bella, smiling just a little. "Interesting," I concede, "but not exactly relevant. The situation remains the same." She will not be associating with the mongrel or his compatriots unsupervised – or at all, if I have my way.

I realize then that my behavior is appallingly high-handed, but I offer no excuses. Bella is the core of my existence, the reason I still walk this earth. And will do what I must to protect her…even from herself.

Silence descends upon the tiny kitchen. Charlie's basketball game echoes dimly from the living room, mingling with the soft sounds of breathing and the most important heartbeat in the world, and Bella watches me for a few minutes, her eyes flashing with emotions too swiftly for me to identify. Then, she draws herself upright and walks around the table, warmth radiating from her like a self-contained sun.

Understanding her unspoken request, I angle my chair towards her and open my arms in invitation.

She settles into my lap, weightless as a feather, and tucks herself snugly against my cold, solid chest like there is no place else she would rather be, her low exhale warming the skin at the base of my throat.

I wrap my arms around her fragile form and breathe in the scent of her hair as it tickles my chin, the heat of her delicate, living body soaking into my every cell. I would be content to hold her like this for the rest of eternity.

Bella avoids my eyes, staring instead at my hands clasped around her as she begins to speak. "Please just listen for a minute."

Her voice is so morose, so subdued, that I tighten my embrace infinitesimally, seeking to comfort her, although I fear I already know what this is about. Bella is not one to surrender easily. Of course, neither am I.

"This is so much more important than some whim to drop in on an old friend. Jacob is in _pain,"_ she says, pronouncing the word as though it cuts her like a knife. "I can't_ not_ try to help him – I can't give up on him now, when he needs me. Just because he's not human all the time…" She pauses, takes a breath, and then soldiers on. "Well, he was there for me when I was…not so human myself. You don't know what it was like…"

The words seem to die in her throat, bathed in remembered pain, but the anguish is fresh in my mind, and my whole body tenses in response.

I have seen in many others' thoughts the damage I had done to this trusting, loving woman now resting so willingly against me. I witnessed firsthand the vacant stare, the listless appearance and the wan complexion. I had heard from her own lips how she had sought adrenaline-infused stunts in order to hear my voice in her head, telling her to not do anything reckless. And I had glimpsed in both the dog's mind and my sister's the ill-fated jump from the ocean cliff into the swirling gray water.

My hands clench into fists, the nails digging into my palms, and my eyelids screw shut. I deserve to die for what I did to Bella.

She continues, still hesitant, but no less convicted. "If Jacob hadn't helped me…I'm not sure what you would have come home to. I owe him better than this, Edward." I can feel her eyes on my face, her pulse accelerating as she reads the strain in my jaw, the lines etched into my forehead.

Swallowing hard, I whisper huskily, "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you." She has forgiven me so easily, undeserving wretch that I am, but I will carry the burden of my blackest sin until the end of time. "Not if I live a hundred thousand years." And that seals my vow.

Before I can immerse myself in the depths of self-flagellation, an angel plucks me from the dark realm of purgatory – as she has does so many times before – by laying a burning-soft hand on my cheek, and then waits patiently for me to rejoin her in the light.

I sigh, long and deep, and open my eyes to meet Bella's chocolate-brown gaze, reflecting her constant love and devotion to this broken man.

"You were just trying to do the right thing," she assures softly. "And I'm sure it would have worked with anyone less mental than me." She smiles a bit at her self-mocking repartee. I stifle a groan. Selfless to a fault, Bella would rather blame herself for her suffering than the one who had knowingly crushed her heart and her trusting spirit in one fell swoop. "Besides, you're here now. That's the part that matters."

The underlying current of peace in her tone should have been enough to quell the storm of intense emotion brewing inside me, but it only grows stronger, loosening my tenuous grip on the willpower restraining my mercurial temperament. The harsh retort erupts before I have a chance to stop it. "If I'd never left, you wouldn't feel the need to go risk your life to comfort a _dog."_

Bella flinches as though I had growled out an obscenity; I shove aside the twinge of shame that follows, with minimal success.

Inhaling a fiery breath of freesia, I realize that my only option is to spell out for her that there are no limits as to what I am prepared to do in order to keep her safe. However, as I look down at her perfect face, her brown eyes troubled beneath a knitted brow, the words seem to stick in my throat.

"I don't know how to phrase this properly," I admit in a low murmur. "It's going to sound cruel, I suppose. But I've come too close to losing you in the past. I know what it feels like to think I have." I wince a little as the dulled ache of an agony too great to bear blooms in my chest. I shift Bella closer to me, her soft warmth tethering my awareness to the present moment, and the pain starts to fade. "I am_ not_ going to tolerate anything dangerous," I finish with quiet fervor. If I have learned anything in the last seven months, it is that I cannot survive without Bella. She is essential to my existence – a sustenance more nourishing than blood, a force more powerful than gravity. She is my whole world.

Her hand presses into my cheek, her heartbeat throbbing against my hardened flesh, and she persists in testing my resolve, coaxing, "You have to trust me on this. I'll be fine." I can tell from her clear eyes and firm chin that she truly believes in the mutt's fluctuating self-discipline.

My mind fills with the memory of the dog's near-loss of control in the woods – his quaking limbs, the shiver of air around his too hot skin, the instinct to attack roaring in his skull – and I picture Bella standing in front of him, white with terror, stumbling to the ground as she tries to flee…

A stab of pain slices through my abdomen, nearly doubling me over. Instead, my body bows further into Bella's delicate frame, and I see my pained expression reflected in her wide pupils as I lean forward. "Please, Bella," I beg in a hoarse whisper.

Captive to my relentless, burning stare, she asks, "Please what?"

"Please, for me." The muscles in my forearms tense around her soft curves, and I find myself wishing for the thousandth time that I could hold her without worrying about my inhuman strength maiming her silk-over-glass body. "Please make a conscious effort to keep yourself safe. I'll do everything I can, but I would appreciate a little help." I purposefully breathe out through scarcely parted lips, allowing my scent to waft into her upturned face, and her pulse skips a beat, her eyes glassy from my 'dazzling'.

Unfortunately, her immunity must be improving, for she blinks the haze from her stare and offers as reassurance, "I'll work on it."

The girl is going to be the death of me.

Surrendering to my body's inherent desire to be encircled around hers, I pull her tightly against my chest, and she twists sideways to slip her arms under my ribs, her hands spread out across my back, making tiny circles that soothe and thrill at the same time.

"Do you really have any idea how important you are to me?" I murmur passionately, and gently move her dark hair behind an ear while a beautiful blush creeps across her face. "Any concept at all of how much I love you?" I tuck her head under my chin, the flames licking at my dry throat a mere match light compared to the slow-burning blaze incinerating my insides as her flushed cheek warms the arc of my neck.

She turns her head ever so slightly and brushes a kiss on my throat, igniting a surge of wildfire that races through my veins and floods my silent heart like an electric shock. "I know how much_ I_ love _you,"_ she breathes in response, her lips chafing my skin like the softest velvet, and the hunger I had felt earlier flickers to life, urging me to bend down and cover those soft lips with my own.

As I have done for a century with the thirst, I block out the carnal impulse and focus on our conversation, determined to prove my point that her protection is my sole concern, which is why she cannot be in the vicinity of any reeking, furred mongrel. "You compare one small tree to the entire forest," I tell her, the words ruffling her hair.

I have no intention of belittling her feelings for me – quite the opposite, in fact. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loves me as intensely as a human heart is capable of, but the emotions of a vampire are heightened far beyond what any mortal could endure.

My love for Bella is an elemental force that has reshaped the core of my essence so that every thought, every desire and every second of my never-ending existence revolves around her. I no longer belong to myself, or even my family. _She _is what holds me to this earth and creates beauty and significance from what I had once considered mere survival.

Bella angles her stubborn chin across my collarbone, opposing my claim. "Impossible."

My lips find purchase on the crown of her dark head and I release a low sigh, the sound both contented and despondent. "No werewolves," I reiterate quietly. I belong to her, but that does not mean I will cater to her reckless aspiration of placing her wellbeing in the hands, or paws, of an immature pup.

Nestling deeper into my embrace, she contradicts our physical unity by arguing, "I'm not going along with that. I have to see Jacob."

There is an odd note of what could almost be defined as…longing in her tone. If I were not so adept at reading the complex melodies of thought and emotion in her voice I would not have noticed, but as such, it is enough to cause a twinge of disquiet to unfurl at the base of my spine, its icy tendrils crawling beneath my skin.

Suddenly, I find myself second-guessing my motivations for keeping Bella apart from the dog.

While it is true that her safety matters more to me than anything else in the world, my desire – my_ need_ to have her with me, to feel the warmth and softness of her body against my own and to know beyond any doubt that she belongs to me is also guiding my actions in this situation, albeit from the shadows of my most base instincts.

And those instincts stem more from the man in me than the vampire.

Can I declare with absolute certainty that I am acting in Bella's best interests by preventing her from maintaining a friendship with a young, unstable werewolf – when that same presumptuous cur has obvious feelings for the woman who embodies my whole universe and considers himself my rival for her affections?

I would be lying if I say yes.

But regardless of my state of mind, circumstances have not changed. It is too dangerous for her to be alone with the dog, and it is well within my power to ensure that Bella does not put herself in harm's way, or out of my reach. "Then I'll have to stop you," I tell her, the confidence behind my words bordering on downright arrogance, but any hint of shame that is spawned by my domineering conduct is negated when I remember how it felt to hold Bella in my arms after months of separation while trapped within the belly of the beast in Volterra, terrified that my heaven might literally be snatched from me at any second. I cannot and will not endure such helplessness again.

The rhythm of Bella's heart increases a bit, a telltale sign of her nervousness, and she remarks lightly, "We'll see about that." Her attempt at a bluff is pathetically laughable, but so charming in its naiveté that I have to smile. "He's still my friend," she murmurs a beat later, and my amusement fades, leaving me in a tangle of erratically shifting emotions.

Wrapped around one another, we remain apart for some time, lost in our own thoughts – until a trickle of suspicious curiosity filters through my ruminations, along with a half-heard scattering of words.

_…wonder why it's so quiet in there…_

With a low sigh, I whisper to Bella, "We should get back to work on those applications. Charlie's getting worried about how quiet it is in here." I start to loosen my hold around her, though every cell in my body shrieks in protest.

"Let him worry." Thin arms squeeze my rib cage with all of their limited strength, and Bella buries her face in my chest, clinging to me despite the faint shiver that quivers through her limbs. Her muffled words and heated breath create a very different kind of shiver in my chilled flesh as she states obstinately, "I told you that I'm not filling out any more applications. And since you said that you write my name better than me, you can just do it yourself, then."

I chuckle, finding an absurdly inappropriate sense of satisfaction in the way she locks her fingers on the small of my back, but when another shiver trembles her delicate frame, I reluctantly extricate myself from her grasp and place her in the chair beside me.

Bella sticks out her lower lip in a pout, her dark eyes narrowed at me. "Cheater," she growls.

I shrug one shoulder, neither admitting nor denying the accusation, and she pushes away from the table with a huff, stomping over to the sink. Jamming the plug into the drain, she turns on the water, a thin veil of steam rising from the basin, and grabs the bottle of soap from the cupboard. After dumping a considerable amount of the yellow liquid into the sink, she glares pointedly in my direction, a mountain of suds building in front of her.

Without a word, I amble over to her side, my lips pressed together to hide a grin, and dutifully assume the task of rinsing while she washes the dishes from her and Charlie's meager fare.

Bella seems to take out her frustration on the pot Charlie had used to boil the spaghetti noodles. Several burnt remnants are baked onto the sides, and she scrubs them vigorously with a square of steel wool, grunting a little from the effort.

Gently, I loop my arms around her hunched shoulders and still her hands with my own. "Let me," I murmur, stepping in close behind her and removing the steel wool from her limp fingers.

Her heart flutters wildly as she settles her back against my chest, but she picks up a washcloth and cleans the silverware while I scour the pot, making short work of the overcooked noodles.

The bright scent of lemon mingles with the floral sweetness of freesia, and I cannot resist leaning down to kiss the hollow beneath Bella's ear, inhaling her intoxicating fragrance directly from its source.

She starts, a low gasp parting her lips, and the handful of silverware she had been rinsing clatters loudly into the sink.

"Everything all right in there, Bells?" Charlie calls from the other room, more to deliver a warning than out of actual concern.

"Yes," she squeaks, shoving in vain against me as I snicker into the curve of her neck. She unplugs the drain and the water gurgles quietly, yet she keeps her hands hidden beneath the slow-moving suds.

Before I can anticipate the movement, Bella whirls around and blows a handful of soap bubbles into my face, grinning like a naughty child. "Ha!" she cries, triumphant.

My nostrils filled with the overpowering aroma of citrus, I blink iridescent suds from my eyelashes and level a stern look at the blushing imp trapped between me and the sink. Cupping my palm around the remaining soap bubbles, I inform her mock-seriously, "You shouldn't start a battle that you can't win, love."

Too quick for her to follow, I bring my hand up to my face, and soon there are suds in Bella's hair, glittering on her cheeks and forehead, and then I put a dollop on the tip of her nose.

Instead of an indignant scowl, she stares up at me with wide eyes, the smoldering gleam in her chocolate irises twisting my insides into a knotted mess.

A second of motionlessness, a sharp breath – and we come together like a pair of magnets, our kiss hardly modest given the fact that her father in less than thirty feet from the kitchen.

Bella weaves her damp fingers into my hair, the lemony taint of soap on her lips, and I rest my palms low on her waist, my brain screaming at me to break away while the rest of me begs to stay wrapped up in her for as long as possible.

Of course, the need for oxygen causes her to pull back, gasping, and I take the opportunity to create a respectful distance between her body and mine, my hands burning as they continue to shape themselves around the curve of her hips.

We stare at one another, breathing heavily, her heart pounding out a frantic tempo, and in her eyes I see excitement, surprise, the barest hint of fear, worry, and awe. Letting out a shaky breath, she mutters as if to herself, "That was…" An appropriate adjective seems to elude her for a moment and she bites down on her bottom lip. My hands twitch as I hold back the sudden urge to press her soft form into mine once again. "…different," she determines a second later.

I hold my tongue, struggling to regain some semblance of self-control, and unthinkingly inhale a deep breath through my nose.

It nearly proves to be my undoing. The devastatingly appealing scent of the woman I love clouds the entire room like a fog, the floral sweetness darkened somehow by a warm musk that makes my head swim as though I am an addict glorying in a drugged stupor.

With massive effort, I cast aside the sensation and peer into Bella's eyes, wondering what she sees as she studies my expression. Does she realize how difficult it is becoming for me to uphold the strict boundaries that have been placed in our physical relationship? Can she understand my appalling selfishness, which entices me to give in to her kisses, even though the consequences could result in death?

Something in my frozen features must betray my inner conflict, for the light in Bella's steady gaze flares like an awakening star and she begins to lean forward, her heart throbbing fiercely, her small hands gripping the front of my shirt…

A dull thump slices into the tense quiet and Bella starts violently, jerking out of my grasp like a skittish horse, her eyes wide and horrified as they swing towards the doorway to the living room.

Laughing, I gently enfold her in my arms. The too-fast cadence of her pulse worries me, so I brush my lips on her forehead and say in a soothing whisper, "It was just the refrigerator. I would know if Charlie was sneaking up on us." At least I _should_…but that is debatable at this point, considering my utter lack of common sense mere moments ago.

"Oh," she mumbles, one hand pressed over her heart. "Right." The rosy stain on her cheeks has drained away because of her fright, and she takes deliberately measured breaths, her face angled towards me in such a way that I realize she must be inhaling my scent. Her heartbeat slows its unruly pace after about half a minute, and then she looks up at me, a rueful smile wrinkling one side of her mouth. "Sorry I'm so jumpy," she apologies yet again for something that is not even her fault. "I guess I'm still a little keyed up."

Acutely aware that scant inches are separating her lips from mine, I lean back, relaxing my hold around her, and suggest, "Well, the dishes are done –" Bella's skin flushes in remembrance; I shift my gaze to the kitchen table, uncertain if I will be able to resist the allure of her blush, and go on. "– and since you are disinclined to complete any more applications, maybe we should work on our history assignment." Homework is a waste of time for me, of course, but hardly a torture when I can assist Bella in comprehending the material. She has a wonderful mind – she just lacks the self-esteem to showcase her intelligence to her teachers and classmates.

"You mean the paper that just _happens_ to be on historical events between 1910 and 1920." Bella steps back and crosses her arms, an eyebrow arched dubiously.

I shrug, replying, "We were given our choice of decades. I thought you might appreciate a firsthand account rather than sifting through library books and research websites." I give her a brilliant smile, and she sighs in defeat, trudging up the stairs to collect her backpack from her room.

Listening to her footsteps cross the hall and enter her small bedroom, I feel my forehead crease in puzzlement when she hesitates longer than necessary, her slight weight shifting back and forth atop the floorboards like she is indecisive.

A crinkling sound – a piece of paper, perhaps – echoes faintly down the staircase, and then grows louder as though she is crushing it into a ball, which proves to be correct when I hear a light thud from the trashcan beside her desk.

In a burst of insight, I suddenly recall the 'delivery' she had asked her father to make this morning to the dog. She must have written a note for Charlie to pass along, and she is obviously not pleased with the response she received.

Juvenile curiosity mixes with frustration while I consider the possible words exchanged between them, but I am not so overly controlling as to forbid Bella from any and all contact with the mutt, though I cannot deny that a part of me wants to do exactly that.

She clomps downstairs a minute later and lobs the backpack onto the table, pulling on the zipper as she slips into a chair, a pencil clamped between her teeth.

I move the nearest chair beside her and sit, carefully removing the pencil from her mouth with an amused snort of laughter, and devote myself wholeheartedly to the mundane task of schoolwork.

Contrary to our disagreement about her friendship with the dog, neither of us broaches the subject again, content to just enjoy this short time together under the watchful attention of her father until I am dismissed promptly at ten-thirty…only to return through her window after Charlie is asleep.

And with her supple, warm body tucked into mine, I admit within the confines of my own ceaseless thoughts that this battle of wills is far from over. My Bella is unbelievably stubborn, and combined with her self-sacrificing nature and innate pull for anything supernaturally dangerous, she is liable to act without a thought for her own safety – and my sanity – to achieve her goal.

It is a fine line to tread, between wanting to give her whatever she desires and striving to protect her at the same time. Falling off either side would most likely end in disaster. And for a creature such as I, whose emotions are so extreme that I am constantly thrust from one end of the spectrum to the other, this may prove to be a severely taxing ordeal. Which is only just beginning – of that I am certain.

I resist the impulse to pinch the bridge of my nose in aggravation when Bella moans very softly in her sleep, her cheek nuzzling my hard shoulder. Selfishly, I tug her blanket-swathed form into my body, wrapping my arms around her as tightly as I dare, and bury my nose in her tousled locks. "I'll keep you safe," I breathe soundlessly, a tiny ripple of pleasure feathering down my spine as she whispers my name in return.

The slow, even beat of her heart resonates through my own chest – the metronome for the magnificent symphony of her human life. I have every nuance of the rhythm committed to memory; I have often tested myself by focusing on sound alone, whether at school or before she leaves the Newton's store when I pick her up from work, to see if I can determine her location from the sweet pulse that now thunders in my ears.

Though it grieves me that the music of her priceless mortality is doomed to end, I know after what transpired in Italy that there is no other course for either of us. We have to be together. It is…inevitable. There is no way that she or I could revert back to separate individuals, for we are so intricately bonded that neither would survive apart from the other for very long – my idiocy proved that only weeks ago.

To my intense surprise, a snippet from that ridiculous novel Bella loves so much rises to the forefront of my thoughts, seeming to affirm my conclusion.

"_Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."_

Perhaps I should read that book again.

Savoring the completeness I feel only when Bella is in my arms, I pass the rest of the night in peaceful silence, content to leave the musings of the future for another time.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your interest and enthusiasm for my story! I deeply appreciate everyone who has taken the time to review, and even those of you who haven't (although I'd really like you to), I am glad you are reading. I'll try not to keep you all waiting too long for the next chapter.

The majority of the dialogue is cited directly from _Eclipse_ copyright ©2007 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 14-34. The quote from_ Wuthering Heights _by Emily Brontë is from Chapter 9.


	3. Threat

**Chapter Notes:** Thank you, everyone, for your many wonderful reviews – and your patience! I know how anxious I get when I'm waiting for a story to update, and I appreciate you all hanging in there while these chapters are coming together.

That being said, this particular chapter was originally intended to be one_ very_ large update…but if I continue on, it will be massive, and I just can't keep you all in suspense any longer. So enjoy!

* * *

I can smell dawn approaching as I race soundlessly through the forest to my family's home, the first few timid strains of birdsong echoing from the treetops above me.

Bella had finally quieted less than an hour ago; she was unusually talkative during the night, mumbling on and on about stupid essays and eating penguins, her fingers clutching my shirt like her subconscious was still fearful that I might disappear.

When the dog's name left her lips, however, I was the one whose grip automatically tightened around the curve of her waist. She appealed to him in her dreams for several minutes, wishing to see him, that same longing in her tone…until I could endure no more.

A whisper of a kiss graced the side of her throat, and I shushed her tenderly, humming the lullaby she inspired in her ear. Only then did her body completely relax beside mine, my name replacing the mutt's, and then she slumbered peacefully, her breaths deep and slow, a tiny smile on her face.

After promising to return before she woke up, I slipped from her bed and was out the window before she rolled over, burying her face in the pillow I had just vacated with a contented sigh.

The sight was enough to calm the knotted mass of hurt, jealousy, possessiveness and fear twisting within the pit of my stomach. Despite how she may feel about the dog,_ I_ am the one who is permitted to hold her as she sleeps, whose imprinted scent on the bedclothes she savors when we are apart.

That realization fuels my resolve to get back to her as soon as possible, and I quicken my pace, ghosting across the meadow to the front porch.

The house is dark, which is no surprise, as we have no trouble seeing perfectly well in any lighting, and the massive front room is empty. Tendrils of thought brush against my perception, and I discern that Alice and Jasper are still out hunting, Emmett and Rosalie are in their bedroom – I immediately tune them out, grimacing – Esme is in her studio, and Carlisle sits in his office, reading a volume of _La Comédie humaine_ by Balzac in its original French.

Remembering Bella's theory about the Quileutes and their claims that our presence is the catalyst for their transformation, I first head upstairs to change, and then make my way to my father's study.

_Come in, Edward,_ interrupts the rhythmic flow of words filling his mind when I am half a dozen steps from the doorway. Carlisle looks up with a faint smile of welcome as I cross the threshold, marking his place with a well-worn scrap of ivory ribbon – a keepsake from his and Esme's wedding ceremony.

I take a seat in one of the leather chairs arranged in front of his desk and rest my elbows on my knees, hands clasped loosely together. _Alice told me to expect you sometime this morning,_ he thinks_, and I said it would be a small wonder if you stayed at home long enough for any of us to even_ see_ you, let alone speak to you. _

The statement could be interpreted as a rebuke, but the twinkle of mischief in Carlisle's topaz eyes softens the overall effect. _I am happy for you, son, truly. We all are. _The genuine warmth and affection in this thought prompts a slight grin from my lips. _Just be sure to say hello to Esme before you go to school,_ he adds, picturing her standing outside the door to my room, a wistful expression on her face._ She misses you, and Bella._

"I will," I promise him. Then I notice the small stack of newspapers – about a week's worth – perched on the bottom right corner of his desk, yesterday's headline glaring on top. "You've been keeping tabs on what's happening in Seattle," I observe quietly, "even though we agreed it wasn't our place to get involved."

He sighs, appearing weary, though it is physically impossible for one of us to tire_. We still need to monitor the situation, in case the newborn expands its hunting grounds. Jasper thought it might be wise for he and Emmett to scout the city, but Alice convinced him to let it alone for now, which is why the two of them went hunting last night._ Solemn, he remarks, _Your brother will always be first and foremost a soldier. It makes him uneasy to remain uninformed in such circumstances. _Ancient golden eyes level a troubled stare in my direction._ He thinks there may be more than one._

Disquiet churns deep inside my chest. If there is indeed more than one newborn vampire wreaking havoc in Seattle, it will not be long before they draw unnecessary attention to themselves…which will inevitably attract the eye of the Volturi. And once their delegation arrives in Washington, it is only a short distance to Forks, and if they discover that the edict regarding Bella's transformation has not yet been obeyed…

I shove myself off the chair and begin to pace back and forth next to the wall of paintings, my thoughts boiling like an erupting volcano.

Carlisle watches my frenzied movements with a grave expression. _You see the problem._

"It won't come to that," I mutter under my breath, willing it to be true. "I'll talk to Jasper. Maybe he and Emmett and I can head into the city and track the newborn, see if it can be reasoned with." A losing battle, in any case, but my father would like us to at least try to find a peaceful solution. "If not, the three of us can handle it. But if there's more than one –" I stop abruptly and rake a hand through my hair, closing my eyes. In the muted light, I can see the circular stone chamber, the burning crimson eyes, the genteel manners concealing the monsters garbed in black robes, and my Bella cowering in their midst.

I swallow hard, and whisper, "If there's more than one, they'll come. And I can't let them near Bella." I meet Carlisle's compassionate gaze head-on. "She_ will_ have a choice. The decision to become one of us will not be taken away from her."

My father nods once. _I agree that we may need to be a bit more proactive with the situation in Seattle, but Alice will see if the Volturi decide to intervene, regardless. When and if that happens, we can determine the best course of action to protect Bella._ In his mind, she became a part of our family the moment he realized my love for her, and he will do whatever he must to safeguard his fragile, human daughter.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely, the calm assurance of his thoughts helping to uncoil the tension from my muscles, and I walk back to the chair I had upended in my outburst, righting it and sitting down in a single fluid motion.

Hoping to steer this conversation in a less treacherous direction, Carlisle raises an eyebrow as he comments, _Speaking of Alice, she said that you would have an interesting hypothesis to share with me._

The corner of my mouth quirks into half a grin. "I do. And actually, it's Bella's hypothesis. She thinks she knows the reason why the transmutation gene has been triggered in the Quileutes again." His eyes light up with vivid fascination, and I briefly relay what Bella had explained last night about the presence of vampires in the area causing the adolescent males in the tribe to phase into wolves.

His thoughts swirl around this information like the eye of a hurricane, streaks of lightning cracking across the atmosphere as a new idea occurs. "Of course!" he exclaims aloud.

Bemused, I look on while he spins towards the bookcase behind his seat and pulls a book chronicling Quileute legends from the shelf. Flipping through the pages, he marvels inwardly, _I believe that she could be right, Edward. Folklore usually contains a modicum of truth, and according to this_ – he points at the open book, to a photograph of a wooden mask carved to resemble a wolf – _the Quileutes have a legend that their first chief was able to possess the body of a wolf in order to defeat his enemy, and then his sons had the ability to transform into wolves and act at the protectors of their people. And to them, their greatest adversaries are the Cold Ones. _

He starts rifling through the book again, becoming more certain by the second that Bella is correct about our affect on the tribe.

"You do realize that you're basically stating that fairytales are real," I say, dubious.

Carlisle glances up at me. _Well, yes. After all,_ we_ exist, don't we?_ A faint smile plays along the edges of his mouth.

I chuckle and shake my head. "Touché." My eyes drift sideways to the small clock resting on one of the shelves and I quickly stand. Carlisle hardly seems to notice. "I'd like to get back to Bella's before she wakes up," I offer in a mild tone. "I'll stop to see Esme and then head out." He makes some noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. I turn away to hide my smile and leave the study, heading further down the hall to the only brightly lit room in the entire house.

Esme's caramel-colored head snaps up as soon as I enter the studio, a wide smile on her pale face. "Edward!" _How I love to see him so happy. He must be on his way back to Bella._ She sets down her pencil and opens her arms, asking, _Indulge your mother?_

We embrace warmly, and I glance with interest at the sketches arrayed across the tabletop. It is a study of a small stone cottage – different views, changes in the windows and door, a small garden to one side, and so forth. This must be her latest renovation project. "It's beautiful," I tell her honestly.

"Oh!" For a moment, Esme seems a bit flustered that I remarked on her drawings, but then she beams at me with such delight that I think I must have imagined it. "It is quite lovely, isn't it?" She gestures to the half-completed image in front of her, this one of the same cottage with a stone pathway leading to a simple wooden door.

"For a client?" I pick up another drawing, captivated by the intricate detail, and have the sudden, fleeting thought that this is the sort of house Bella would love.

"No, just my own imagination," Esme replies, though there seems to be something secretive in her tiny smile. "Carlisle and I came upon this old ruined cottage in the woods a few days ago and I was playing with the idea of returning it to its former glory." A sun-dappled glade surfaces in her mind's eye, a crumbling heap of stone and rotted wood marring the otherwise idyllic landscape.

_It could be perfect…_ she sighs to herself, before switching her thoughts to a memory of Bella and I seated together in the front room, laughing at Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie as they played cards. _We haven't all been together like that in so long,_ Esme thinks sadly.

Grinning, I tell her with excitement, "Well, Bella is no longer grounded; maybe she'll want to come by later tonight."

In response, she throws her arms around me, joy replacing her melancholy thoughts.

The back door clicks open at the same time that my name echoes through my head, and I pull away from Esme, her wish for me to have a good day flitting across my perception while I dash downstairs, meeting Alice and Jasper beside the window wall. The cloud-filled sky has lightened to a smoky lavender, and I am filled with renewed urgency to return to Bella, not wanting her to awaken without me there.

_Seventeen minutes, Edward,_ Alice announces mentally, noticing my worried glance out the windows.

At the same time, Jasper says in his usual quiet voice, his irises buttery gold from hunting and filled with sobriety, "Alice saw what you are planning about Seattle. I'll go with you whenever you're ready. It is unwise to allow the newborn to run amuck in the city for much longer."_ I don't want the Volturi here any more than you do,_ he adds, remembering the designs Aro has for Alice and myself to join the guard.

Muffled scrabbling noises ring out above us, and suddenly Emmett barrels down the stairs. "Count me in, too," he declares. "I've been itching for something fun to do." He cracks his massive knuckles, an eager grin baring his brilliant white teeth.

Rosalie appears behind him an instant later, glowering first at the back of Emmett's dark head, and then at me. _You just_ had_ to put that idea into his head,_ she snarls.

I shrug, unapologetic. We have to decide to do something, or else we leave entirely too much of this situation to chance.

Sighing, Alice folds her tiny arms across her chest. "It will probably accomplish nothing," she remarks in a drab tone.

I round on her, asking intently, "Have you seen something?"

One black eyebrow arches in response. Then she says, a bit annoyed, "You know the visions don't work that way. I won't see the three of you in Seattle until you decide to go."

"Then let's_ decide_ to go this weekend," Emmett puts in loudly, and looks to me for approval_. I'm tired of beating around the bush with this._

An icy trickle of doubt starts to seep into my veins as I think of Bella being left on her own for the whole weekend. I haven't been gone for more than a day since the trip home from Italy, and not only because I cannot bear to be apart from her, but also because a vengeful nomad is still at large, hungering for Bella's death. Not to mention the fact that Bella seems more determined than ever to pay a visit to the dog. Could I trust her to keep herself safe while I am in Seattle?

"Ugh." Alice squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her temples with her fingers. A chaotic whirlwind of colors and motion floods her mind, shifting with each passing second, impossible to comprehend. "Stop being so indecisive, Edward," she complains.

"I can't leave Bella unprotected," I retort, sharper than I would have liked. My brain cannot even seem to fathom separating from her for almost three days, and my hollow stomach clenches painfully as I envision her asleep in her bed right at this very moment, so small and warm and vulnerable. No, I will not leave her alone while I am hundreds of miles away. It is too dangerous.

Immediately, Alice's vision clears. A rainy woods appears, the trees flashing past in a blur of green and brown – then a streak of white interrupts the muted, earthy colors. The horizon whirls sideways, and everything just…flickers out. Black covers the images like spilled ink, and Alice's eyelids flutter as she comes back to the present, her expression strangely resigned. _Not again…_

"Again?" I step towards her, still half-lost in the vision she inadvertently shared. "You've had this vision before?"

"I've been seeing the same thing on and off all night," she murmurs, disconcerted. "No matter how much I concentrate, it stays the same. The same stretch of woods, the same streak of white, and then it fades." A deep frown mars her elfin features. "It's really frustrating."

"But what does it mean?" By now, I am standing directly in front of her, staring down at the top of her spiky black hair.

"I don't _know!"_ she shouts angrily.

I blink in surprise. The others have frozen, shocked, since Alice is not known for lashing out – especially at me.

Her shoulders slump, and Jasper tucks her tiny frame into his side, using his touch to calm her tense emotions. "Sorry," she sighs, glancing up at me with contrite topaz eyes. "I just wish I could make more sense of it. It feels…important, somehow. But I can't get it to change." _What worries me the most is that blankness at the end,_ she thinks, her arms tightening around her rib cage. Aloud, she says, "It's like the vision is only halfway finished, but I can't see what happens next."

"So…" Emmett interjects slowly, struggling to keep up with our unusual conversation. "Your psychic transmitter is getting all scrambled by something, and you can't watch the rest of the show." He seems proud of himself at coming up with a suitable analogy.

A weak smile flits across Alice's face. "In simplest terms, yes. And I really wish I could change the channel. Watching the same trees over and over again…" She shudders delicately. "I can only take so much of the _National Geographic _montage."

"The vision will resolve itself in due time," Jasper tells her in a low, gentle voice. "It always does. We'll just go about our business and wait to see if any decisions affect the outcome." _She takes too much upon herself. Her gift doesn't make her omniscient – it just makes her better prepared._ He rubs a palm along Alice's upper arm, already missing the exuberance that his mate normally radiates like a star.

Emmett slouches onto the staircase, grumbling, "I guess the trip to Seattle is a no-go."

"Not until we know more," I reply, and then turn on heel to walk towards the front door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be." The desire to see Bella, to breathe in her burning-sweet scent and feel her warmth, is a palpable ache in my chest. "I'll be back in a half-hour, Alice," I call as the door swings shut, and dart into the trees. If my calculations are correct, I have less than seven minutes to reach Bella's bedroom window and lay down beside her before she opens her eyes.

I increase my stride, thrilling with the speed, the damp air creating tiny beads of moisture on my skin.

The little white house gleams like a beacon through the thinning leaves as I pause just out of sight, aware that Charlie is going about his morning routine in the kitchen. Through the window, I watch him pour a cup of coffee and then turn around to sit at the table and read the paper.

While his back is to the front lawn, I race forward and scale the side of the house, slipping through Bella's open window without a sound.

Almost on cue, she inhales a deep breath and rolls onto her back, stretching out beneath the threadbare quilt. I seize the opportunity to fit myself in the space next to her on the mattress, resting my head on the edge of her pillow, my ravenous gaze feasting on her sleepy form as though I have not seen her in days instead of a mere hour.

She lets out a low groan while her spine arcs over the bedspread, and then her dark eyes flutter open, automatically shifting to the side to land on my smiling face. "Good morning," she says through a wide yawn.

I push a few strands of hair from her cheek with my fingertips. "Did you sleep well?"

Bella rolls her shoulders in a slight shrug, avoiding my stare as she mutters, "I guess." Propping herself up on an elbow, she runs her fingers through her tangled locks, and glances at me with a halfhearted smirk. "I don't think sleep is something I'm going to miss when I'm a vampire."

"Bella…" I moan, covering my face with the crook of my arm. She must have a personal goal to try and drive me insane.

She shoves against my chest – the sensation is lighter than a warm breeze – and starts to clamber over my outstretched legs. "Fine, be a grump. I need to take a shower."

One foot braced firmly on the floor, her other leg is trapped inside the twisted mass of sheets, but of course she does not realize it until she tries to stand. A gasp parts her lips, and she teeters sideways, her arms flapping uselessly in the air.

I sit up in a blur, securing her flailing body in my grasp just as Bella jerks her foot out of the blankets. The additional force causes her to sprawl across my body and I fall back onto the bed, her feather-light weight pressed into my torso, and then her chin knocks into my breastbone with an audible thump.

"Ouch," she mumbles a beat later.

"Are you all right?" I demand, lifting a hand to examine her chin, cursing myself for not reacting sooner. I tilt her head from side to side, searching for any trace of bruising on her creamy skin.

"I'm fine." Her reply is muffled a little by my hand still cupping her chin. "Just clumsy, like usual." She adjusts her position a fraction of an inch – and then her eyes widen, her heartbeat galloping madly beneath her breast.

I cease to breathe, unable to focus on little else except the heat of Bella's body seeping into my own through the layers of fabric, her hips perfectly aligned with mine. A rush of white-hot electricity scalds my cold flesh, and a barrage of sensation assaults my entire being. I instinctively freeze in place, though the knot of yearning in my stomach coils unbearably tight, begging to pull her closer, to feel every line of her soft body against my own.

My mind immediately rejects such a reckless action, common sense advising me to break away from this intimate, charged position – but then Bella leans forward, her breath warming my lips, and my traitorous body responds. The kiss is surprisingly tender, her petal-soft mouth barely caressing mine, which only increases my longing for more.

Afraid of hurting her if I cannot maintain control of my rash impulses, my hands slip from her waist and fist in the bedclothes. Then I retreat from her a few inches, swallowing hard. "You should get ready for school," I murmur, my voice husky.

Bella's heavy-lidded eyes blink several times, cognizance leaking into her deep brown orbs, and a predictable blush blazes across her face, tinting even the tips of her ears a rosy pink. "Right. School. Shower." More careful this time, she scoots off the bed – or more accurately, off me – and walks to the dresser, retrieving her bag of toiletries.

I sit up, my feet dangling from the end of the mattress, while she rummages through her closet. _This is for you, Alice. _I clear my throat a little and remark casually, "It's going to be a bit warmer today. Why don't you wear that yellow outfit hanging on the end?"

She turns to look at me, disbelieving. "Since when do you care about what clothes I wear?" Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Did Alice ask you to say something?" She does not give me a chance to answer, and instead rambles on to herself grouchily. "She did, didn't she? Well, I'm not about to wear some designer outfit just because she wants to convert me into a fashionista."

To prove her point, Bella shoves said outfit to the very back of the closet, hiding it from view, and comes back out holding a faded pair of jeans and a light blue t-shirt with the name of a band she likes printed on the front. _"This_ is what I'm wearing," she announces, displaying both for a full second before throwing them over an arm and stomping towards the bedroom door.

I cut her off, delicately taking her flushed, irritated face in my hands. "It doesn't matter to me what you wear, love. You always look beautiful." Smiling crookedly, I confess, "I thought I'd at least give it a try so that Alice will get off my back about the clothes she picked out for you."

"It's too much, Edward," she protests, looking uncomfortable. "I could never afford to buy this kind of stuff for myself."

"And Alice knows that," I assure her in a soothing tone, "which is precisely why she wants to buy them for you. It's one of the ways she shows how much she loves you." I smooth my thumbs over her cheeks, wondering when she will realize that my sister's reasons for purchasing high-end garments to fill her small closet with are the same as my reasons for wanting to give her gifts that she considers herself unworthy of – like a reliable vehicle.

Bella frowns up at me like she understands the double meaning in my words, and I chuckle, bending to press my lips to her wrinkled brow. "But Alice also knows how stubborn you are. She won't push the issue again for a while." And if I had to hazard a gamble, I would say that will last two weeks at most.

Lowering my hands, I step back, heading for my usual exit. "I'll pick you up at seven-fifteen," I promise her, and then drop easily to the wet grass two stories below, looping around the far side of the house to avoid unwanted attention from the nearest neighbor collecting their newspaper from the front stoop.

The wind sings in my ears as I race through the forest once again, bypassing the house completely to reach the garage, where Alice is already waiting in the back seat of the Volvo, moping.

_Thanks anyway for trying, _she sends while I get in and start the engine._ But mark my words: one day, Bella's going to be glad of my impressive shopping skills. _Her inky-colored head bobs in self-assurance.

I cannot resist teasing her a little. "Is that a prophecy or wishful thinking?" I inquire innocently.

She kicks the back of my seat with her foot, shaking the whole car in the process. _Ingrate._

My answering laughter is abruptly cut short when the same mystifying vision from early this morning floats through Alice's mind again. She exhales heavily and scrunches her eyebrows together, like she is trying to rid the images from her brain by sheer force of will.

"No change?" I ask quietly, hearing the incredible amount of frustration saturating her thoughts.

_Not yet. And it won't leave me alone, either._ She knocks her head back against the leather seat cushion, her nose wrinkling in distaste. _I hate not knowing what's going to happen._

I stare unseeing out the rain-splattered windshield and whisper, "Me, too."

I pull into the driveway just as Bella appears at the front door, tugging the hood of her raincoat over her head. "Edward's taking me to school, Dad," she calls over her shoulder.

Charlie grunts in reply, his sharp eyes zeroing in on the Volvo's front seat, though I doubt he can see my expression from the kitchen window through the sheets of rain.

_It will be okay, Edward,_ Alice declares while Bella jogs towards the passenger side. I lean over swiftly and open the door for her. _You'll know when I know._ "Morning, Bella!" she greets with a cheerful smile after Bella settles into the seat, the rain amplifying her scent so that it blooms gorgeously inside the car. "Did you eat breakfast yet?"

The half-second's hesitation is all the answer she needs. "Um…"

"Here." Alice proffers a wrapped granola bar. "It's your favorite."_ Though is smells positively revolting._

Bella munches on her small meal on the way to school while Alice chatters about making plans for a shopping trip to Portland in the next few days, since she had seen my suggestion to Charlie after he released Bella from being grounded.

The three of us walk to class together, Alice and I on either side of Bella, and the day continues on its expected path. My only concern is the odd vision that keeps plaguing Alice every hour or so, replaying the same forest scene like a loop of film and someone has forgotten to change the reel. She tries to put it out of her head as soon as it ends, and I follow her lead. I do not want Bella to notice my unease.

As the hours wear on, it occurs to me that the overall atmosphere of the school is bathed in excitement – impacting the senior class in particular – as conversations center around college acceptance letters, prom, and graduation. Even Bella seems to be affected by the thrill in the air. A bright smile is affixed to her heart-shaped face while we stroll hand-in-hand to the cafeteria, and I feel a grin tugging on my mouth in response to her joyful mood.

After collecting a suitable assortment of food in order to keep up appearances that both she and I will be eating, we weave through the round white tables crowded with students to our usual spot.

Angela Weber and her boyfriend Ben Cheney are already seated; Ben is absorbed in a popular graphic novel, adding the sound effects mentally as he reads to himself, and Angela is showing Alice a brochure from the University of Washington, pointing out the different courses in their arts program.

I set the tray down with one hand while pulling out a chair for Bella with the other, her tiny smile at my ingrained sense of chivalry momentarily chasing the worry from my mind.

The two girls look up at our arrival. Angela smiles vaguely in welcome, her thoughts racing with a list of tasks she needs to accomplish in the few weeks left before school ends, but her kind nature prompts her to notice the faint circles underneath Bella's brown eyes. _She looks tired. I wonder if she's got a lot on her mind because of graduation, too._

If she only knew.

"Have you sent your announcements yet?" Angela asks while Bella surveys the lunch fare I had purchased with resignation.

Glancing at her friend, Bella becomes aware of Alice's poorly concealed perusal of her clothing, her gold eyes darting back and forth as she laments, _Her entire wardrobe lacks imagination. If she would just wear what I bought for her – especially that beaded beige Amaya Arzuaga camisole –_

I tune out her fashion monologue at the same time that Bella releases a weary-sounding sigh, almost like she can hear Alice's critique. Then she says to Angela, "No. There's no point, really. Renée knows when I'm graduating. Who else is there?" She plucks a slice of fruit from the tray and plops it into her mouth.

Considerate as always, Angela looks to my sister with genuine interest. "How about you, Alice?"

Alice switches her thoughts from the benefits of this spring's color trends and smiles angelically, careful to not show her teeth. "All done," she fibs with effortless ease.

"Lucky you." Angela drops her chin into her palm with a sigh, an irked expression on her face that seems so out of character for the normally mild-tempered girl. "My mother has a thousand cousins and she expects me to hand-address one to everybody," she complains to the table at large. A paper box stacked full of cards and envelopes floats across her mind's eye, and she cringes a beat later, her writing hand tingling in remembered pain. "I'm going to get carpal tunnel. I can't put it off any longer and I'm just dreading it." She sighs again. _You have no one to blame but yourself for procrastinating, Angela._

Bella instantly jumps to the aid of her good friend, offering with a slight smile, "I'll help you. If you don't mind my awful handwriting."

The corner of my mouth quirks upward in pleasure. Now that I have a clearer picture of what Charlie had meant about 'balance' before I officially arrived at the house yesterday evening, I am glad that Bella is reaching out to her safe, human friends in order to comply with her father's prerequisites for her freedom.

"That's so nice of you," Angela says gratefully. "I'll come over any time you want." _As long as it's okay with your dad, _she adds to herself, unaware for the moment that Bella's punishment has been lifted.

"Actually, I'd rather go to your house if that's okay – I'm sick of mine." A glorious, jubilant grin shines out from Bella's heart-shaped face. "Charlie un-grounded me last night," she announces victoriously.

Angela blinks in surprise. "Really?" Her memory of when Bella first explained the terms of Charlie's sentence flashes through her mind, and she remarks with cautious optimism, "I thought you said you were in for life."

"I'm more surprised than you are," Bella replies, her tone honest and flavored with bright notes of glee. "I was sure I would at least have finished high school before he set me free." She picks at a bagel with the same disinterest that I have towards food, but thankfully puts a small portion in her mouth before I ask her to eat something, if just to give me peace of mind.

Brimming with enthusiasm, Angela declares, "Well, this is great, Bella! We'll have to go out to celebrate." Her dark eyes examine fleetingly the way Bella's posture and mine seems to curl our bodies towards one another, and her mental voice ponders, _Maybe we can all do something fun together. I think everyone could use a break from the pressures of the future._

Truly, her wisdom and insight is surprisingly well developed for one so young.

She and Bella share the conspiring smiles of two friends eager for distraction, and then Bella sighs, "You have no idea how good that sounds."

Never one to be left out of event planning, Alice leans forward in her seat, her pixie face aglow. "What should we do?" Her thoughts are already racing in a thousand different directions, picturing a drive to Las Vegas, a boat ride to Canada, and_ – for the love of all that's holy – _a shopping trip to Paris.

A hint of foreboding crosses Bella's otherwise carefree expression as she studies my sister for a moment. "Whatever you're thinking, Alice," she warns, "I doubt I'm_ that_ free."

I give her a meaningful stare, as well; the ideas now entering her mind are growing more fantastical by the second.

_Don't give me that look, Edward._ Alice sends a stubborn scowl in my direction too quickly for any human to notice._ If it were up to me, this would be a girls-only celebration._

"But it's not up to you, is it?" I mutter in a low voice, my lips scarcely vibrating with the swift retort.

She envisions sticking her tongue out at me and then appeals to Bella, cajoling, "Free is free, right?"

"I'm sure I still have boundaries – like the continental U.S., for example." Bella folds her arms and looks pointedly at her best friend, well aware of Alice's extravagant tendencies, and smiles just a little when Ben and Angela laugh at what could logically be considered a joke to anyone more sensible than my sister.

I smirk at her, smugly amused, and rest my arm on the back of Bella's chair.

Alice pouts like a disappointed child. _Party pooper. _"So what are we doing tonight?" she asks, determined to invoke some sort of entertainment from this impromptu meeting.

"Nothing," Bella answers in her trademark obstinate tone. But upon noticing Alice's crestfallen expression, she gives in a little, murmuring, "Look, let's give it a couple of days to make sure he wasn't joking. It's a school night, anyway," she adds as further reason to end the discussion.

Undeterred, Alice pronounces confidently, "We'll celebrate this weekend, then." _I can be patient._ She shoots me a dark glare when I snort very quietly in disbelief. _And it gives me more time to plan…_ Her mind begins to chase after several unlikely but still plausible scenarios.

Bella appears to realize that my sister will never surrender, and says in hopes of appeasing her, "Sure."

"Angela," Alice twists in her seat to face the soft-spoken brunette, "what do you think about going to see a concert in Portland?"

Her eyes widen in bewilderment. "A concert? Wouldn't that be kind of expensive?"

Ben looks up from his graphic novel, his glasses perched on the very tip of his blunt nose. _Concert?_ He pushes the wire rims back into their proper place and says, "Are you talking about the concert that's going to be at East End Friday night?" The image of an advertisement from the newspaper pops into his thoughts.

Alice nods at Ben, and then flicks a hand dismissively as she addresses Angela's concern. "Not a problem. The group is indie, anyway, so the cover charge won't be outrageous." She beams with innocent charm at the pair, waiting for their approval.

"But…" I can see in Ben's mind that he has discovered a flaw in Alice's idea. "Don't you have to be twenty-one to get in that place?"

He and Angela stare expectantly at the tiny black-haired vampire, and she grimaces in aggravation, cursing under her breath.

While those three throw around options – one involving _bowling,_ of all things – I content myself with an unobstructed view of Bella's profile, a surge of muted delight over her nearness drowning out the constant hum of adolescent musings that echoes in my head. The sparkle of elation that I had seen within her dark eyes just a moment ago has rapidly begun to wane, and I watch in growing puzzlement as she drops her chin and frowns at the smudged tabletop, her bottom lip pushed out ever so slightly, her closed-off body language broadcasting discontentment.

The eternal question burns on the tip of my tongue. I prepare to interrupt whatever thought is ruining her mood – when all of a sudden Alice lets out a tiny gasp, her mind screeching my name frantically.

I latch onto her thoughts and am instantly pulled into the now familiar vision of a blurry forest consuming the field of view, and then a streak of white flashes past…and that is when the vision changes.

Shifting course to the left, the line of white seems to slow, other colors bleeding into the pale shape: denim, tan, and a vivid splash of red. Dread sinks into the pit of my stomach, warning me of what that brilliant hue could entail, but I stay focused, looking on with Alice as the blended colors form into a figure weaving through the trees like a stalking predator.

The figure crouches down in the underbrush, thick fiery hair hanging in snarls around a hardened feline-like face, and stormy crimson eyes peer out from the wet green leaves at an unsuspecting neighborhood.

I recognize the area immediately – even without noticing the little white house at the far end, a police cruiser and a rusted red truck parked out front.

All of my senses explode into overdrive, the natural tendencies of my species freezing my body into a motionless statue.

Victoria is coming back to Forks.

And she is coming for Bella.

My first instinct – the first instinct of any creature, really – is self-preservation. And it is an indisputable fact that Bella is the literal essence of my existence. Every fiber of my being screams to take her into my arms and never let go, to pull her fragile body inside my invulnerable stone shell and protect her from a monster hell-bent on revenge.

Victoria is obsessed with the desire to end the life of my love because I had destroyed hers in a ballet studio in Phoenix over a year ago, and her idea of justice is a warped interpretation of the phrase 'an eye for an eye'. A mate for a mate.

I strangle the snarl threatening to erupt from my throat. Victoria will never get close enough to my Bella to even_ smell_ her, let alone harm a single hair on her head. I will rip her apart and burn the shredded remains of her corpse myself. I was denied the chance to deliver the killing blow to James after he viciously attacked my Bella and infected her with his venom, but this time I will end this menace with my own hands.

First and foremost, I must guarantee Bella's safety. When Victoria reaches Forks, Bella has to be somewhere else – just as a precaution. Once she is well defended, my brothers and I will track the nomad.

Part of me does not want her to see the violence I am prepared to unleash – to see the reflection of the monster in my eyes when I have strived so hard to show her the man – and it is that same part that urges me to shield Bella from the knowledge of this future. She should not have to live in fear because of something I should have dealt with months ago. I will tell her everything once it is finished.

Meanwhile, Alice is replaying the vision over and over in her head, trying to determine the exact time of Victoria's arrival. _Sometime this weekend,_ she mutters to herself._ I can't pin it down any closer than that; something's still interfering with what I can see._ She stares with vacant topaz eyes as she scans for all possible outcomes, half of the visions swirling by too fast for me to discern, but she continues to pick out details with expert precision.

A handful of seconds has passed: time enough for the others at our table to realize that something is amiss. Angela peers at my sister in confusion. "Alice?" _She just stopped talking in mid-sentence. Is she okay?_ "Alice!" She waves a hand in front of Alice's blank expression, becoming alarmed when there is no response.

Ben glances at me, unnerved by the harsh lines around my mouth and eyes – which I swiftly erase as he looks away – and thinks, _Bella's freaked out by this, too. Look at her face._ Through his thoughts, I see Bella staring at Alice, her brown eyes round and panic-stricken and her cheeks drained of all color.

My lifeless heart writhes in anguish, prompting me to resume the masquerade of normalcy if only to banish that wide-eyed horror from Bella's face and mollify her friends' concern. After decades of practice, it is too easy to mask what is brewing within and put on an effortless smile, a light chuckle breaking the tense quiet.

Ben and Angela are caught by my distraction, their gazes shifting in my direction, but Bella refuses to look away from Alice, who appears almost catatonic while her mind races at lightning speed through knotted threads of future events.

I kick her shin with the toe of my boot. She jumps, startled back into the present, her eyelids fluttering while half-formed thoughts scatter like windblown leaves in her head. _What…?_

"Is it naptime already, Alice?" I rib her playfully, but with my eyes I motion to our surrounding audience, reminding her of where we are and how she needs to behave to avoid unwanted attention.

She gives her head a little shake and smiles in apology. "Sorry," she says in her usual chirpy voice, "I was daydreaming, I guess." _You didn't have to kick me, though,_ she scolds, pulling her short legs out of my reach beneath the table.

Ben accepts Alice's excuse in predictable human fashion, his mind already moving on to more comfortable thoughts as he peers up at the clock mounted on the cafeteria wall and sighs. "Daydreaming's better than facing two more hours of school."

On the other hand, his girlfriend is far more perceptive. _That was weird,_ Angela comments to herself. _I've never seen Alice space out like that before…and Bella still looks worried about it._ Her face swims into view in the girl's mind. The panic has faded from Bella's gaze, replaced by anxious scrutiny as she looks back and forth between Alice and I, no doubt full of complicated questions.

"Then let's daydream about what we should do for fun this weekend!" Alice proclaims brightly. And in just a couple of sentences, she succeeds in drawing Ben and Angela back into a lighthearted conversation about plans that will definitely be postponed. At the same time, her multi-layered brain is able to sift through the details of her vision of Victoria and have a separate, silent discussion with me. _We can catch her before she gets to Forks, Edward. She won't get that close to Bella and Charlie. I'll tell the others what I saw after school lets out – I know you're not going to leave Bella alone._

Feigning absentmindedness, I rotate my hand curved around the top of Bella's chair and twine a lock of her hair around my fingers. The texture is like warm silk against my cool skin, and I watch as the light reflects shades of auburn, chestnut and mahogany in each delicate strand.

Alice is aware that I am still listening, so she goes on. _Victoria will arrive from the southeast; that should be enough for us to try and nail down exactly where she'll be once she reaches the forest._ She hesitates briefly, and then suggests, _You probably won't like this…but you know Victoria's scent better than the rest of us. What if you take Jazz and Em while we keep an eye on Bella? I might be able to convince Charlie to let her spend the weekend at our house –_

_No._ I clench my jaw and barely stop myself from growling in denial. I have left the protection of the most precious gift I have ever been given in other hands before, and I will not do it again. As much as I thirst for retribution against Victoria, my overwhelming need to stay with Bella and keep her safe takes precedence.

Once the decision solidifies in my mind, Alice receives fleeting images of me accompanying Bella to the airport…the interior of a plane…and palm trees dotted along the edge of a sunlit beach. _Palm trees?_ she asks, confused. _Where are earth are you planning to go?_

She meets my eyes for a few seconds, puzzling out the possibilities, but she returns her attention to Angela when she senses Bella's watchful stare_. You're not going to tell her, are you? _It is more of a statement than a question. My sister knows me very well.

I peer slowly to one side of the cafeteria, and then to the other – the equivalent of a negative reply in our invented method of non-verbal communication.

_I suppose that's best. Bella does worry too much. But you have to realize that she's not going to let this go._ A quick flash of Bella's stubborn glower flits through her thoughts. _She'll ask about my vision as soon as she has a chance._

Yes, I know. I will have to distract her, or keep us within earshot of those who must remain ignorant so she cannot voice her questions.

There is also the distinct possibility that I will have to lie – something I vowed never to do to her again after spouting that poisonous blasphemy last September – but I have to ensure her wellbeing, which means that Victoria's imminent arrival must stay secret. Bella should not have to spend the entire weekend in fear, jumping at every shadow, when there is no real danger. The nomad will never lay a finger on her, so why upset her needlessly?

Seeing my strategy for the remainder of the day, Alice agrees_, I'll help as best I can. And I'll try to clear out the blank spots in my visions of what will happen after Victoria gets here._ The bell rings, and she leaps gracefully to her feet. "Well, I have to stop at my locker for my history book. See you later!" With a final wave, she sweeps out the double doors, her petite frame blending in with the students crowding the hallway.

I stand and deliver the tray of half-eaten food to the wastebasket while Bella jerks out of her seat almost aggressively, grasping my hand once I return, and I imagine that she wants to pull me aside before our next class and grill me for answers.

Luckily, we trail after Angela and Ben, and I stroll over to his side, inquiring in a friendly tone, "Did you start on the Calculus assignment yet?" Calculus is the one class I do not share with Bella, but she is not liable to forget that I finished all of my homework in less than an hour as she was struggling through a particular set of problems the other night.

Sure enough, she glares at me in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance as Ben blinks in surprise, astonished that I am speaking to him about an assignment when he is certain that my IQ is most likely the highest in the school. "Y-yeah," he stutters a bit, and then clears his throat. "Yeah, I did. It's a little tougher than I thought it would be."

The two of us confer while Angela veers off to her English class and Bella clings tightly to my hand, her bewildered chocolate eyes following my every move long after Ben jogs towards his class and I lead the way to our desks.

Using a fair amount of careful maneuvering, I manage to keep Bella and myself surrounded by familiar faces and inane conversation throughout the rest of the school day without seeming too deliberate.

When the final bell is due to ring, I glance around wildly for someone to talk with – and to my intense displeasure, that someone is Mike Newton. The boy is lucky to be alive and in one piece after all his inappropriate mental fantasies about my Bella, but I am not above employing his services if it will protect her from unnecessary knowledge.

His mind is simple, and easily distinguished from the din, as I have plucked out his thoughts numerous times in the past. He is mulling over a discussion he and Tyler had this morning as they examined Mike's car, though both boys have limited experience with mechanical repairs.

The bell trills, and everyone prepares to leave in a rush of enthusiasm, pulling on coats and hats to ward off the unusual chill in the spring air. Mike tugs on a jacket and slings his backpack over a shoulder, shuffling towards the door. _Hope the thing starts… I don't know how I'm gonna afford to get it fixed…_

Swallowing my pride, I leave Bella to finish bundling up and walk after him. "Hey, Mike," I call, modulating my tone to a mild, amiable level.

He spins around, instantly on the defense. "What, Cullen?"

The soft pulse behind me accelerates, betraying Bella's suddenly frazzled nerves, and I have to concentrate mightily to avoid turning around to offer reassurance. Instead, I raise my hands in a gesture of goodwill, informing Mike with a faint smirk, "I come in peace. I just had noticed driving in this morning that you had the hood open on your car and wondered if you were having trouble."

He gapes like a fish for almost half a minute, questions stumbling around in his skull clumsily. _What does he care if I'm having car trouble? Is he offering to help? Does he know about cars? Just because he drives that Volvo doesn't mean…but if he has an idea about what's wrong… _He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and mutters, "It's having a hard time starting up. I've tried a bunch of different things but nothing seems to help." He begins to head out the door, apparently assuming that our conversation has ended.

I quickly fall in step with him, keeping one ear tilted behind us as Bella hurries to catch up, her eyes boring into my back. "Could something have shorted out?" I ask Mike politely.

"That's what I thought at first," he replies, still uncertain, "but I just replaced the battery." His wide blue eyes flick forward, scanning the near-empty parking lot before darting back to me. _This is crazy. Most of the time Cullen looks like he wants to rip my head off, and now we're talking about cars?_

He refers to his decapitation figuratively, of course, unaware that I have envisioned such an action in the literal sense.

"Perhaps it's the cables?" I have been around many vehicles in my century of existence, and Rosalie is a genius with machines. Oftentimes she is prone to recite engine components or assembly instructions when she wants to keep me from hearing her thoughts.

Mike frowns, looking aside. "Maybe." _Cables? What cables? I don't know what the hell he's talking about. Oh, well, I already look like an idiot._ "I really don't know anything about cars," he eventually mumbles, shrugging. "I need to have someone look at it, but I can't afford to take it to Dowling's."

From the corner of my eye, I see Bella open her mouth to speak, but she presses her lips together a second later, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

I repress the well-known surge of desire to know her thoughts and say to Mike, "I know a few things – I could take a look, if you like." This guise of helpfulness is wearing thin, but if it will continue to buffer Bella's attempts to question me about the vision Alice received, I will be the picture of courtesy. "Just let me drop Alice and Bella at home." I doubt he will take me up on the offer, but if so, Bella will be safe with Alice at her father's house while I dally with Newton. I raise my eyebrows, hopefully displaying some considerate-looking expression, and shove my hands in my pockets in the pretense of warding off the brisk, misty wind.

My proposition seems to have overloaded Mike's limited brain capacity. Stammered phrases and blatant shock fills his mind while his jaw unhinges, gawking at me in such a way that I can see his tonsils quivering in the back of his throat.

Directly behind us, Bella has skidded to a halt, her lips parted in similarly astonished fashion.

Once Newton gathers his wits – as much as he is capable of, at least – he fidgets with the strap cutting into his shoulder from his backpack and avoids my gaze while he answers, "Er…thanks."_ We have now officially entered the Twilight Zone, _he mutters to himself, the signature theme music from the television series playing in his head. I stave off the urge to roll my eyes. "But I have to get to work. Maybe some other time," he adds halfheartedly, his feet carrying him towards the driver's side of his car in retreat.

"Absolutely," I respond in a civil tone, though neither of us have any intention of engaging in this sort of strained socialization again.

He unlocks his door and climbs inside, mumbling a farewell, and shakes his head incredulously after the engine stutters to life. _Crazy. That was crazy._

In a stroke of luck, the Volvo is parked only two cars down the row from Newton, and as he putters around Bella and I a familiar voice titters with merriment,_ I didn't think you would actually go through with it. A conversation with _Mike Newton,_ of all people. I have to say I'm impressed. _Alice's head bobbles from side to side with her high-pitched giggles while she waits for us in the back seat.

Opening the passenger door for Bella, I throw a quick scowl in my sister's direction. Then a cloud of warmth breezes past me and Bella mutters, perplexed, "What was_ that_ about?"

"Just being helpful," I remark lightly before closing the door.

I am seated behind the steering wheel a fraction of a second later, and Alice catches my eye in the rearview mirror while Bella fiddles with the clasp on her seatbelt. _My turn,_ she whispers in her mind, inhaling a deep breath. I inwardly brace myself for a full-scale assault, and Alice does not disappoint. She launches into a rapid-fire chatter with obvious eagerness, though the sharpened edges of her thoughts tell a very different story, displaying her intense determination to help protect her best friend from Victoria's scheming.

"You're really not_ that_ good a mechanic, Edward," she starts off in a chiding voice. "Maybe you should have Rosalie take a look at it tonight, just so you look good if Mike decides to let you help, you know." _The visions still haven't changed much,_ she sends to me at the same time._ Bits and pieces get garbled up or switched around, and the blank spots aren't helping, either. _"Not that it wouldn't be fun to watch his face if _Rosalie_ showed up to help," she muses aloud while replaying everything she had seen over the course of the last few hours for my perusal. _See? It's like a half-finished puzzle, and I'm trying to put it together when I don't have all the pieces and I don't even know what the picture should look like. _"But since Rosalie is supposed to be across the country attending college, I guess that's not the best idea. Too bad. Though I suppose, for Mike's car, you'll do."

The odd, hazy image of me and Bella at the airport, followed by a snapshot of palm trees swaying in a breeze, springs into focus in Alice's mind. _You're taking her somewhere for the weekend, that's obvious, but it hasn't gotten any clearer yet. _She gripes petulantly a beat later, _Either you haven't made up your mind or you have no idea where you're going. _"It's only within the finer tunings of a good Italian sports car that you're out of your depth. And speaking of Italy and sports cars that I stole there," Alice jabs my shoulder with the brightly polished nail on her index finger, "you still owe me a yellow Porsche. I don't want to wait for Christmas…"

She resumes flipping through the future, hoping to nail down more specifics surrounding Victoria's imminent visit and my goal of removing Bella from Forks, while babbling on about the vehicle I'd promised her to fill the silence inside the Volvo. Meantime, Bella gazes out the rain-soaked windshield, her features blank but her mouth set into a firm, stubborn line.

_She'll try to wrest what I saw out of you at some point,_ Alice comments, noticing my brief glance at the only human in the car.

Half-aware of her warning, I contemplate the peculiar choice of destination I am seemingly on the verge of deciding upon in order to preserve Bella's innocence concerning what will happen in a few days' time. A warm southern climate could be very risky for someone like me, but if Bella will be safe than I can endure two or three days of confinement indoors to avoid direct sunlight. But how can I convince Bella to go when she refuses to accept anything that involves the slightest amount of money from me? And she would never agree to leave Charlie without giving him some sort of explanation…

All at once, a solution presents itself.

Florida.

Bella has not been to see her mother since Renée and Phil moved to Jacksonville, and I know that in light of the circumstances that had brought them together several months ago, it would be beneficial to pay a visit and allow Renée to see a happier version of her daughter. Also, Carlisle and Esme have already purchased the tickets for airfare to Florida. The vouchers were their birthday gift to Bella, and she has them tossed in a desk drawer in her bedroom – an out-of-the-way storage place after I had unearthed all reminders of her disastrous eighteenth birthday party from beneath the floorboards.

My insides twist into uncomfortable knots as I think of speaking to Bella about the vouchers and all the painful memories such a conversation is bound to dredge up for us both…but she must be kept safe, and this is the simplest means to that end.

I bring the Volvo to a stop at the end of the long drive to the house and Alice opens her door, questioning me in her thoughts, _What are you trying to decide, Edward?_

She freezes for less than half a second, startled, as I make my choice and my future becomes more solid – but not concrete. Alice's head whips sideways, her gold eyes piercing me with acute intensity. _Florida? Are you sure? You must be sure,_ she answers her own question,_ or else I wouldn't see it. _Her unblinking stare seems to sharpen even further. _I hope you know what you're doing._

Turning to look at her, I keep my expression relaxed though my resolve is unyielding, and say casually, "See you later."

Another thought fires at me, quicker than a flash of lightning: _I'll coordinate with the others as best I can. You should prepare yourself; Bella's not going to make this easy on you._

_She never does._ I give Alice the faintest nod and watch as she, evidently satisfied that she has given me fair warning, closes the door and vanishes into the trees.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The Cullens had a lot more to say in this chapter than I had planned on, but I love the family dynamic so much that I can't complain. It was a bit of a creative challenge to come up with imagery for Alice's vision of Victoria; I hope that it was understandable. And this is the first time I've actually written Mike Newton, which was kind of fun.

Because I spilt this chapter into two, the first part of the next update is written, but I do have some ground to cover before it's ready to be posted. Again, I ask for your patience. I will do my very best to make the wait well worth it.

Please take a quick moment to jot down a review – I value your feedback more than I can possibly say. It's like a caffeine jolt, a shot of chocolate and a dose of Edward all rolled into one. :-D

Portions of the dialogue are cited directly from _Eclipse_ copyright ©2007 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 35-42.


	4. Evasion

**Chapter Notes:** So…remember what I said before the previous chapter about having to break it into two updates because of a massive amount of content?_ This_ chapter is practically its own novella. As with everything I write from Edward's perspective, there seems to be so much more going on under the surface that I have to try and put it all into words.

I won't waste any more time with my babbling; Edward has a_ lot_ to say right now. Enjoy.

* * *

During the return trip into Forks, I wait for Bella to erupt into a slew of inquiries and demand to know why I am keeping Alice's vision a secret – but she holds onto the quiet almost as well as I do. However, she continues to throw frequent looks in my direction and her heart drums out a tense staccato pulse that she attempts to control by breathing slow and deep.

Speculations run wild in my head as to what reasons she may have for maintaining her silence, but for once I do not immediately succumb to the urge to ask the eternal question. The desire to know her thoughts would undoubtedly lead to many pointed questions, and then I might have no other alternative but to lie to her…something that I vowed I would never do again.

Perhaps I can manipulate our interaction in such a way that my suggestion to visit Renée in Florida is simply based on Bella's hidden wish to see her mother, which she has spoken of on and off in her sleep during the last few nights. If she never sees the correlation between our trip away from Forks and Alice's vision, I will not have to deceive her, though a cynical voice in the back of my mind whispers that Bella is far too perceptive for blind acceptance. She knows that I have been giving her the runaround all day, hoping to discourage her from asking about the vision, and that will not stand for much longer.

Her protection versus telling her the truth: which is more important?

While my conscience wars with my heart, I pull next to the curb in front of Charlie's house and turn off the engine, remarking lightly, "Light homework load tonight."

Bella hums in agreement, and I loop around the car to open her door, plucking her backpack from the floor after she steps onto the curb, a brief flash of relief crossing her face when she notices the empty spot that the police cruiser normally occupies in the driveway.

"Do you suppose I'm allowed inside again?" I gently tug the hood of her jacket over her head as we walk towards the house. The misty rain has created a sheen of moisture on her hair and skin that amplifies her scent pleasurably, but I do not want her to contract a cold just for the sake of my own gratification.

She snags her bag from my grasp – I let her remove it, of course – and digs around in the front pocket. Then she fits her key into the lock, shrugging. "Charlie didn't throw a fit when you picked me up for school." Her reflection in the windowpane suddenly frowns, uncertain.

I have to bite my tongue to stifle the burning curiosity as she opens the door and trudges inside, hanging her jacket on the banister before heading upstairs, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

On her heels, I move soundlessly into her room and laze about on the bed, hooking my fingers together behind my head. Staring absently out the window, I feel Bella's eyes land on me for a moment before she drops her backpack with a loud thump on the floor and flips on her absurdly outdated computer.

Tension seems to radiate from her entire body while she plops herself into the chair and waits for the computer to boot up. She flips her hair twice, huffs a little sigh in irritation, and then begins to tap her fingertips on the edge of the desk. The rhythm is completely random, but it tells me that she is more anxious about today's events than I had originally thought.

How I wish that I could take her back in time to our playful affections early this morning – her soft, warm body pressed against mine, her full lips teasing my mouth with feathery kisses…

Flickers of hunger awaken within me, propelling my body off the mattress to stand right behind her chair. _Distraction._ I have to distract her from thinking about Alice's vision, and this is definitely one of the more enjoyable means of doing so.

I place my hands over hers to halt the rapid motion of her fingers and bend down, my head next to hers as I murmur, my voice husky, "Are we a little impatient today?"

Bella spins around, face tilted upward at the perfect angle, and her mouth is halfway open to form some witty retort. Yet when she realizes how close I am, her brown eyes widen, a dreamy expression shaping her features as my breath caresses her skin. My hands come up to cradle her flushed cheeks, and I touch my lips to hers delicately, like the brush of a moth's wing. The supple give of her mouth under mine stokes the flames burning low in my belly, the scorch of thirst long forgotten, and my fingers slip into her silken hair, craving more of her warmth.

Bands of fire travel up my chest and encircle my neck as Bella loops her arms over my shoulders, arching her back to move even closer, and I have the fleeting notion of pulling her onto the bed – a repeat performance of our embrace just after dawn.

Caution dispels that thought a second later, but does not stop me from gliding a hand along her spine, each vertebrae as precious and fragile as crystal, to nestle into the small of her back. With the lightest pressure, I pull her closer still, the heat of her body melting the icy hardness of my chest.

A shiver ripples through her small frame. I curse my chilled flesh as I slowly loosen my hold around her, still savoring the taste of her kisses, but Bella has other plans. Using every ounce of her frail strength, she curls herself into my body, sending a shudder of desire through me.

Then a warm, moist sensation smoothes across my bottom lip, and my eyes snap open as an uncontrollable heat flares white-hot in my veins. I smother a wild-sounding noise trying to claw its way out of my throat as the tip of Bella's tongue lingers on the lowest curve of my mouth, and I escape from her arms with careful haste, though a part of me howls in protest at the absence of her tempting softness.

A low chuckle rumbles out of me when I reflect on how my desires have changed from just thirsting for Bella's blood to a barely reined-in need for_ all_ of her – not only her blood, but her body, her mind, and her soul. And as if she seeks to undermine my self-control, Bella offers herself to me freely whenever she has the opportunity, every kiss and tender caress nudging my moral compass further into the realms of unforgivable selfishness.

I want her in every possible way, and the concepts of right and wrong are rapidly shrinking with each passing day in light of my inexpressible addiction to her.

"Ah, Bella," I sigh, pushing my yearnings deep down as I drink in the sight of her gloriously rosy flush, her chocolate eyes shining with love and a hint of triumph.

A smile plays along the corners of her mouth. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not." She reaches out to straighten the collar of my shirt, her fingertips brushing the hollow of my throat, and tendrils of warmth dance across my stone skin. I cannot make myself withdraw, although common sense tells me that I should.

My thumb strokes the dimple beneath her lower lip and I grin crookedly. "And I should feel sorry that you're not sorry, but I don't." I am incapable of regretting the last few minutes, or any minute spent in the heaven of Bella's warm embrace.

Watching the progress of my thumb as I trace the shape of her mouth, I wonder how she would taste if I kissed her like she did me – and then I recognize the dangerous temptation of this particular whim. I reluctantly lower my hand and back away several inches, suggesting, "Maybe I should go sit on the bed."

She lets out a shaky breath, blinking quickly as she sinks into her chair. "If you think that's necessary…" she says, a bit dazed.

Grinning, I untangle myself from her arms and legs – she had locked her ankles around my calves in her attempt to hold me prisoner – and sidle over to the bed. Bella jerks her head from side to side to rid herself of the aftereffects of our _distraction,_ and then she turns to face the computer, clicking open an e-mail from her mother. "Tell Renée I said hello," I remark lightly.

"Sure thing," she mumbles, scrolling through the rather lengthy message filling up the screen.

A comfortable silence flows between us as Bella reads, the occasional head shake and whispered laugh displaying her amused affection for the woman who is in many ways more of a child than her daughter, and after several minutes the sound of tapping fingers on the keyboard echoes within the tiny room.

Since Bella is thoroughly absorbed in typing a response, I cast my eyes about the cluttered space, suddenly unsure of what I am intending to do. My gaze settles on a thin rectangular shape just peeking out from beneath a pile of shoes at the bottom of her closet, a partially stripped wire winking with a coppery gleam in the fading light from the window.

I retrieve it before I have the chance to question myself and balance the flattened piece of circuitry in my hands, my brow furrowing as a stab of guilt punctures my chest like a knife. The stereo system was a gift from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper for Bella's birthday, and Emmett had installed it in her truck that night so she couldn't refuse it.

I trace my fingertip along the gouges in the black casing, wincing. She must have torn this from the dashboard after we had left, using a screwdriver by the looks of it, and – a faint red smear on the sharp edge of the stereo captures my attention like a slap in the face. She had cut herself in the process, too.

I had caused her so much pain. What right did I have to open Pandora's box and remind her of what she had gone through?

Unconsciously, I had moved away from the closet during my examination of the destroyed stereo, and I glance sideways when a slight movement stirs the air on my right. Bella's dark hair glows with a soft auburn halo directly below me, her heartbeat thrumming with vibrant life and her scent billowing around her in a cloud of fiery sweetness, and resolve drowns out my guilt-stricken thoughts. Victoria is coming, and she will not rest until she accomplishes her goal – which is to snuff out the light of my existence. I must keep Bella safe, and the only way to guarantee that is by taking her to see Renée this weekend.

_Keep it light,_ I tell myself – an old, old mantra I had repeated incessantly during the early days of our relationship.

I wait until Bella finishes composing her reply, watching the letters appear on the screen as she adds 'Edward says hello,' to the closing paragraph and then hits the send button.

While she flips off the computer, I hold up the irreparable electronic and make a show of turning it this way and that, appearing horrified by its sad condition. She spins to face me, and the faint catch in her breath a handful of seconds later signals her realization of what I am inspecting.

With feigned dismay, I exclaim, "What did you_ do_ to this?"

She gives me a negligent shrug. "It didn't want to come out of the dashboard."

I turn the stereo over to peer at the tangle of wires jutting out from the back and touch the ruined spray of copper on the end of a red one with the tip of my forefinger. "So you felt the need to torture it?" I murmur in a wounded voice.

"You know how I am with tools." Bella manages to sound both indignant and self-critical. "No pain was inflicted intentionally."

Shaking my head, I let my expression crumple into a tragic frown as I lament, "You killed it."

She shrugs again, folding her arms over her stomach. "Oh, well." Her whole attitude exudes indifference, but her brown eyes track my movements with watchful care, flicking upward to meet mine as I shift closer to the bed.

I lay the broken stereo to rest atop the bedspread, murmuring, "It would hurt their feelings if they saw this." Emmett would be beside himself if he ever saw the state of this high-tech piece of equipment; he had been so proud for having thought of the idea, and I know its destruction would bother him more than Rose or Jasper. "I guess it's a good thing that you've been on house arrest. I'll have to get another one in place before they notice."

"Thanks," she replies with the barest hint of sarcasm, "but I don't need a fancy stereo."

"It's not for your sake that I'm going to replace it," I tell her, which is mostly true. Alice is always eager for a little online shopping; she can help me locate a replacement in no time, and once it arrives, I will fit it into the hole in the truck's worn dashboard while Bella is sleeping.

She sighs, tilting her face towards the window, and I see my chance to further my plan.

Quicker than the blink of an eye, I open the desk drawer inches from Bella's left elbow, snagging the airline vouchers hidden beneath an assortment of photographs and other keepsakes, and close it just as she turns her gaze back in my direction. The stiffened squares of paper feel ice-cold in my hand, but I ignore my misgivings and wave the vouchers lightly back and forth as though fanning myself. "You didn't get much good out of your birthday presents last year," I say in displeasure.

Bella sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes round in surprise, and I glimpse the ghost of the anguish she had suffered after that terrible night in the depths of her dark irises. I hold onto the lighthearted mask covering my features with every shred of willpower that I possess, even as her heartbeat trips over itself in an anxious cadence, her hands clenching the tops of her thighs so tightly that her fingers bite into the soft flesh.

I hold the vouchers out to her, nodding to the date listed beneath my thumb. "Do you realize these are about to expire?" My tone is mild and unassuming while I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly in question.

Inhaling slowly through her nose, she loosens her grip on her denim-covered legs and then answers in an emotionless voice that belies the discord raging within her steady gaze. "No, I'd forgotten all about them, actually."

"Well," I inject a small amount of optimism into my words without seeming excessive, "we still have a little time. You've been liberated…and we have no plans this weekend, as you refuse to go to the prom with me." I smile fondly, remembering her stubborn refusal to share_ that_ 'human experience' with me for a second time. Then my grin widens, and I nod towards the paper in my hand. "Why not celebrate your freedom this way?" I ask, holding her eyes with my own while hoping that my persuasiveness has not been too obvious.

She gasps, astonished. "By going to Florida?" For the tiniest portion of a second, an unguarded look of pure delight brightens her expression.

Encouraged, I remark teasingly, "You did say something about the continental U.S. being allowable."

As Bella studies my face, her eyes begin to narrow in suspicion. She glances back and forth between me and the vouchers, pursing her lips in a manner that I find highly fascinating while she thinks over my offer inside the walls of her impenetrable mind.

Soon the silence becomes too much for me to withstand. "Well? Are we going to see Renée or not?" The earnest appeal in my question is more noticeable than I would like; I carefully school my features into a look of anticipation and wait for her response.

With a timid burst of hope, I watch Bella slump a bit in her seat, crestfallen. "Charlie will never allow it," she mutters glumly.

I already have a logical argument prepared. "Charlie can't keep you from visiting your mother," I point out. "She still has primary custody."

Bella stiffens, predictably bristling at the notion that she is still a child being transferred from one parent to the other. I work hard to smother the smirk attempting to curve my mouth as she retorts, chin held high, "Nobody has custody of me. I'm an adult."

My smirk erupts in full force. "Exactly," I proclaim in triumph.

Folding her arms across her torso, she stares at the hardwood floor, lost in thought. I search her changing expressions intently, alert to every nuance. A faint V-shape mars the middle of her brow for the first twelve seconds, and then that same delight I had seen earlier smoothes her forehead, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Forty-two seconds later, she captures her bottom lip between her teeth and sighs, sounding disappointed. "Not this weekend," she says, giving me a rueful half smile.

"Why not?" I manage to ask as gently as possible, though my frustration is growing.

Her shoulders scrunch together. "I don't want to fight with Charlie. Not so soon after he's forgiven me."

She cares very deeply for her father, and I know that her unusually accepting attitude of the restrictions he has placed on her is due in part to the fact that she will not be present in his life for much longer. But I also know that she has a strong desire to see her mother again, and I consider it my responsibility to make certain that Bella receives anything she wants. That a trip to Florida just happens to coincide with my own wish to remove her from Forks is a fortunate side effect.

However, I have to convince her that she can put aside her selfless tendencies for once and go visit her mother simply because she_ wants_ to, not because she is trying to make everyone happy. "I think this weekend is perfect," I murmur in a low voice, a scowl beginning to form over my meticulously crafted expression.

Stubborn as ever, she shakes her head, replying, "Another time."

My level of frustration continues to climb, which prompts me to try a different approach without completely thinking it through. "You aren't the only one who's been trapped in this house, you know," I tell her, an annoyed frown twisting my mouth.

My goal is to incite Bella's automatic response to please everyone by giving of herself and thereby urge her to visit Renée this weekend…but I had not taken into account her incredible perceptiveness. Especially when it comes to me.

With laser-sharp focus, her chocolate-colored eyes pierce my own, suspicion hovering thickly within her stare as she no doubt ponders the change in my behavior.

I could kick myself for being so thoughtless; of course Bella would notice that my words were self-seeking, it is so unlike how I usually act around her. She has yet to realize that I am the most selfish creature in existence just by remaining where I am at this very moment. And that same selfishness is what drives me to persist in this campaign to keep her as far away from Victoria as possible.

Bella studies my face for another of her heartbeats, and then remarks in a very frank tone, "You can go anywhere you want."

There is no place else for me to be except with her. "The outside world holds no interest for me without you," I declare softly, experiencing the gravity of that truth in the core of my being.

Her eyes roll towards the ceiling. Perhaps she thinks that is an exaggeration.

"I'm serious," I counter, a twinge of hurt in my chest. I thought she understood now, after everything that had happened in Italy, that there is no world for me without her. I have no reason, no purpose, but to love her – for the rest of eternity, if that is what she truly desires. And I swore that I would never leave again unless she orders me away. Even then, I doubt that I could disappear from her life entirely; how can a planet escape its orbit around the sun? It is impossible.

She seems to recognize that her brush-off of my sincerity stung and her features soften, her dark eyes pulling me into their depths as she stands up, a breath of space separating us. "Let's take the outside world slowly, all right?" she says, and takes the vouchers from my hand, setting them on top of the desk. "For example, we could start with a movie in Port Angeles…" She is baiting me, trying to determine the reason why I am suddenly so interested in a trip to the other side of the continent if all I really want is to get out of this house and spend some time with her.

A groan slips out. This is more difficult than I had planned. "Never mind," I mutter hastily. "We'll talk about it later."

"There's nothing left to talk about." Bella sticks out her chin a fraction of an inch, refusing to give any ground, and I wonder fleetingly how much trouble it would cause if I were to cart her off to Florida whether she agrees to go or not.

I shrug, nearly succumbing to the impulse to pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. A kidnapping charge would not sit well with police chief Charlie Swan – especially if I intend to receive his blessing once Bella accepts my marriage proposal. I shall have to devise another means of getting her on a flight with me to Jacksonville by Friday evening. This battle of wills is far from over.

Sensing that we are once again at an impasse, Bella announces briskly, "Okay, then, new subject." Her hands perch themselves on her hips as she demands, "What did Alice see today at lunch?" An eyebrow quirks in challenge, but it cannot disguise the flicker of apprehension in her clear gaze.

The moment I had secretly been dreading has arrived. With no other way out of the corner she has backed me into, my only option is to lie, and my stone heart crumbles in grief. It takes a great deal of effort to maintain a semblance of composure, and Bella watches me intently, so I have no room for hesitation or regret. That will have to come later, when I apologize and inform her that Victoria will not bother us ever again.

"She's been seeing Jasper in a strange place," I begin with a sigh, "somewhere in the southwest, she thinks, near his former…family." Involving Jasper will help explain Alice's reaction to the vision; I will have to make sure she knows what story I've spun in case Bella questions her, as well. "But he has no conscious intentions to go back." I sigh again, drawing it out a bit longer. "It's got her worried," I conclude in a slightly indifferent tone, hoping to portray that Alice's supposed anxiety about Jasper is not cause for alarm.

Embarrassment colors Bella's ivory skin with a rosy glow, her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise before she mumbles quietly, "Oh."

The light behind her warm brown eyes flickers like a candle flame as she processes the lie that I have succeeded in selling her so easily, and what is left of my soul cringes in pain that I can still deceive her with just a few well-rehearsed sentences.

In that instant, my belief that the end justifies the means is shaken to its very foundation. If all I can give her are evasive answers and half-truths whenever there is the slightest hint of danger, how can she possibly trust me with her hand, or her immortality?

She interrupts the torment in my mind as she asks in a timid voice, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

_Because I hate having to lie to you again. Because I would sacrifice every scrap of integrity I own if it will keep you safe – even if you come to despise me for it._ "I didn't realize you'd noticed," I tell her smoothly, another lie. I am more aware of her every breath and beat of her heart than anything else in the world. My whole existence hinges on her radiant life. "It's probably nothing important, in any case."

I tuck my hands into my pockets, my head tilting to the side while Bella makes a face that is a mixture of insecurity and chagrin, her hair hiding most of her face from my view a moment later while she edges past me.

Guessing at her destination, I swoop down a half second before her and retrieve her backpack from the floor. "Homework?" I say, smiling faintly.

"Charlie might get home early," she explains, her nose wrinkling with concern at the thought, "and the last thing he needs is to find me and you in my bedroom without any parental supervision. He'd probably have a heart attack." She sweeps out of the room and into the hallway, and I immediately follow.

Chuckling, I remark in wry humor, "You mean before or after he shot me?" Though a bullet would find it virtually impossible to penetrate my granite-like skin, Charlie has fantasized about turning his gun on me several times since my reentry into his daughter's life – the first of many imagined acts of retribution. It is my theory that I can glimpse these daydreams because of the sheer strength of emotion that fuels them.

In light of Bella's obvious joy whenever he sees us together, the violence in his fogged mind has waned, but I have no doubt that he is waiting for me to make a mistake. And if that mistake were to entail him discovering Bella and I in a improper situation…then I believe staring down the barrel of a .9mm would be the least of my worries.

She snorts at my supposed joke, and catches herself on the banister when the toe of her left shoe trips on the edge of the bottom step.

I loop my free arm around her waist, supporting her weight effortlessly, and shake my head in mock-distress. "I see that I must protect you from unsafe staircases, as well," I murmur over her thundering pulse, and cluck my tongue in her ear.

"Ha-ha." The sarcasm loses its effectiveness in her breathless reply.

I smile against her blush-warmed temple and savor the heat of her body for another second before depositing her gently in a chair at the kitchen table, setting her backpack in front of her. "Be right back," I promise, and then race outside to gather the menial collection of schoolwork from the Volvo's trunk.

When I return, Bella has her copy of the Calculus worksheet that was assigned in front of her, her fingertip prodding the keys on her calculator with painstaking slowness. The expression on her face is one I have deemed 'intense concentration', and have learned the hard way that she cannot stand being interrupted during these moments. So I sink into the chair directly across from her and take out the same worksheet. The problems are relatively standard given the course work, and I have no difficulty filling in the appropriate variables to complete the equations and then solve each without the use of a calculator.

However, I pretend to keep working a few minutes longer, because Bella tends to quit shortly after she realizes that I am finished with an assignment – and her single-minded attention grants me a unique opportunity to watch her while she thinks I am otherwise occupied.

Head bowed slightly over the tabletop, I glance up at her through my lashes, utterly fascinated as she taps the end of her chin with her pencil's eraser, her eyes fixed on the worksheet like she expects the answer to appear out of thin air. She then fills in a number, purses her lips, and scrubs it out a second later, writing in another solution.

A puff of breath shifts tiny, wayward strands of hair from her forehead while she moves on to the next problem, the line of her shoulders tensing as she frowns in confusion. Her mouth forms the word, "What?" but she does not speak. Instead, she peeks in my direction.

Staring openly now, I grin once she meets my eyes, my paper turned over beneath my folded hands so that she is not tempted to take the easy way out and copy my answers.

Rather than ask for my help – which I would gladly give in order that she may gain a better understanding of the material – Bella flattens her lips into a stubborn glower and looks back down at her worksheet, scribbling with renewed vigor.

The first problem she finishes is totally wrong; I will have to correct it before she hands it in tomorrow. She struggles through the second for five minutes, the heel of her right foot tapping ceaselessly on the floor – a visible by-product of her aggravation. Another minute passes, and then she glances at the clock mounted above the kitchen window.

I swallow my laughter as she sighs in loud relief and rams her homework into her backpack, zipping it closed. "I'd better get started on dinner," she announces, and swings around the corner to toss the bag onto the living room sofa.

Once she returns, Bella yanks open the refrigerator and scans its contents. Curious, I stay seated while she pulls out a bloody, plastic-wrapped chunk of raw meat, a package of pale gray-brown mushrooms, and a tub of yogurt. Setting these items on the counter, she heads over to the pantry and grabs a bag of flour, a red packet of some sort of dry mix, and noodles. "Could you get that big frying pan out for me, please?" she asks absently, dumping the armful of items onto the counter beside the others.

Right away, I dash for the large cupboard under the sink and remove the pan she requested, setting it on top of the stove. Meanwhile, she tugs off the plastic wrap covering the mushrooms and washes them in water from the tap, her eyebrows drawn together in what I would deem frustration.

"How else can I help?" I murmur softly, wondering at her expression and what I can do to alleviate it.

She hesitates for a moment, almost driving me to the brink of insanity, and then gestures with a wet hand to a little-used drawer at the far end. "In that drawer, there's a recipe box that belonged to my mom. Could you bring it here?"

It is in my hands before she finishes speaking.

After drying off with a dishtowel, Bella flips open the lid and sifts through the meager collection of cards, most of them covered by Renée's slanted handwriting and scratched out words or amounts. But at least a dozen of the recipes are carefully written in an unfamiliar, elegant cursive. Bella withdraws one of these cards and reads through it, nodding to herself.

I glance at the name squeezed into the top right corner, intrigued. "Your grandmother?"

"It's one of Charlie's favorites," she says in a preoccupied voice. She sets the card aside and moves to another drawer, pulling out a measuring spoon along with a few other utensils, clearly absorbed in her task.

Smiling to myself, I replace the recipe box in its drawer. Despite my revulsion for any and all types of human food, I truly enjoy assisting Bella with preparing meals. She has a distinct confidence when she cooks – something that is severely lacking in nearly every other activity in her life – and I must admit, being with her like this allows me to indulge a bit in an oft-used fantasy. I can pretend that I am mortal, just like her, and that I need and appreciate her skill in the kitchen as much as her father does.

I wish that I could give her the simple reassurance of a compliment on her cooking…but at least she seems to be fond of my reactions to the foulness that emanates from everything she uses to make the meals.

While I admire her quiet movements about the kitchen, I very nearly miss the fact that she now has a knife in her hand, its serrated edge gleaming in the yellow light, and is poised to cut the meat splayed on a wooden board in front of her.

Before she can draw another breath I am behind her, gently but firmly plucking the knife from her grasp. "Why don't you let me do that?" I have seen too many injuries to her tender flesh, her blood pooled beneath her delicate skin in a bruise or spilled upon the ground, filling the air with its intoxicating aroma. Though the flavor no longer holds any power over me, I still cannot bear the thought of her coming to harm, even from something as mundane as a kitchen utensil. Especially if I can prevent it.

Predictably, she becomes indignant, her head whipping sideways so as to fix me with a heated glare. "Edward, I am perfectly capable of –"

"Humor me," I breathe into her face, inches from my own. A sense of victory courses through me when her pupils dilate, the anger draining out of her eyes.

She ducks under my arm a couple seconds later, putting a pot of water on the stove. Once the meat is cut, she instructs me to put it into the frying pan and turn the burner on low. As she expertly turns the strips over with a spatula, she says, "Now bring over the mushrooms and the soup mix."

Mushrooms, I know, but I have to read the labels on the bags to determine which one is the soup mix. Presenting them to her, the earthy smell of fungus mingles with the odor of burning blood in my nose and I cringe in disgust. Bella smirks as she adds the ingredients to the pan with a cup of water, the sizzling sound echoing in the cramped room.

When the pan's contents are thoroughly browned and reduced to a syrupy gunk, Bella leaves it to simmer and gets out a mixing bowl. Using flour and yogurt, she whips up an unappealing whitish slime that reminds me of the stench of rotting vegetation. "Here:" She offers me the spoon. "Keep stirring. I have to put the noodles in." And she walks towards the stove, humming tunelessly.

I do as I am bid, swirling the spoon through the glutinous mass, my upper lip curling while I watch the glop drip from the end of the spoon and into the bowl.

Musical laughter dances across the kitchen to my ears. "Bring it over here, Edward," Bella tells me through her giggles.

"I'm so glad you find my torment amusing," I complain in a sour voice, carrying the bowl out in front of me as though it contains hazardous waste, which honestly would not surprise me at this point.

A mischievous twinkle lights up her brown eyes as she takes the bowl from my hands. "Put the noodles in the strainer?" she murmurs earnestly, gracing me with a soft-lipped smile that never fails to melt away every shred of resistance.

Heaving a theatrical sigh, I lift the steaming pot from the stove – not bothering to use the potholders – and pour its contents into the strainer in the sink.

A flash of movement catches my attention and I glance out the window as a police cruiser coasts into the driveway. "Charlie's here," I inform her, setting the emptied pot on the dish rack. From his barely discernible mind, I get the vague impression of relaxed cheerfulness, which not even the sight of my instantly recognizable car seems to dampen.

"Right on time," Bella mutters, mixing together a revolting-looking substance in the frying pan that is almost the same brown-gray-cream color of the thick mud at the bottom of the Sol Duc River.

I busy myself by arranging two place settings on the table, and the front door opens, followed by the jangling of keys and Charlie's customary clomping footsteps. "Hey, Bells. Something smells good."

"It's stroganoff." Bella plops a scoop of noodles on both plates, one considerably larger than the other, and ladles the mud-like concoction on top. "Come and eat before it gets cold."

Charlie enters from the living room and settles into his chair just as Bella sets his plate down. His eyes gleam with pleasure as he picks up his fork and promptly digs in, neither acknowledging nor shunning my presence, which is more civil than he has been as of late.

After Bella joins him at the table, I excuse myself from eating with them and stroll into the living room, clicking on the television to the six o'clock news. And as expected, they are airing a segment on the murders in Seattle.

I listen intently, noting that for the moment, speculations are wide-ranging and nowhere near the mark – except for one very perceptive reporter that wonders if this could be the work of a serial killer. It is a close enough comparison to a newborn vampire, although there is no way to predict whom its next target will be. A serial killer will usually have a pattern, a set victim preference. A newborn craves only blood, and that is the one basic element that all humans have in common.

More than half of the newscast has finished by the time Charlie eats his last bite. Bella had refilled his plate two more times since they had started eating. A chair scrapes across the floor, after which Charlie exhales in satisfaction, his weight shifting in such a way that I suspect he has his feet propped up on the spare seat. "That was great, Bells," he mumbles contentedly.

"I'm glad you liked it." A fork clatters lightly onto a plate, and then Bella says with genuine interest, "How was work?"

"Sort of slow." He chuckles under his breath. "Well, dead slow really. Mark and I played cards for a good part of the afternoon. I won," he declares proudly, "nineteen hands to seven." A fleeting burst of excitement changes the tone of his thoughts, and I gather that he is looking forward to some upcoming event based on whatever else occurred during his workday. "And then I was on the phone with Billy for a while," he adds in a casual manner.

Bella's pulse skitters at the mention of the Quileute patriarch, but she manages to ask in a relatively even voice, "How is he?" The undercurrent of concern in her words makes me wonder if it is really Billy she is asking about, or a younger, decidedly furrier Black. And judging from the half-heard question in Charlie's mind, he and I must be united in our speculations.

Nevertheless, he answers mildly, "Good, good. His joints are bothering him a little."

"Oh. That's too bad." The sympathy in her voice is heartfelt, yet I get the distinct impression that she is struggling to make small talk rather than asking her father outright if there had been any mention of the dog in his conversation with Billy.

Suddenly, the usually peaceful silence in my head is maddening, and my hand curls into a fist atop my leg. Just _once,_ I wish that I could hear what she is thinking – particularly in regard to that infuriating mongrel.

From my memory, Bella's voice chides, _"You know what they say about eavesdroppers."_

Still, the warning does not completely dispel my longing to learn every corner of her mind – pure, unedited, glorious – if it were at all possible for me to do. But as such, I have to rely on more conventional means of discovering the flow of her thoughts, which includes paying careful attention to not only her words but also how she says them.

Focusing intently on Charlie's half-hidden mind, I try to glimpse her face through his eyes while he continues. "Yeah. He's invited us down to visit this weekend."

This is the obvious reason for his earlier excitement. The two men must have conspired together to hatch a scheme that would allow them to have a friendly visit and put Bella out of my reach for several hours.

Of course, Charlie has no idea that I physically cannot enter the reservation, but the elder Black is no doubt banking on that critical piece of the treaty. Needless to say, it is unlikely that either of them took into consideration the fact that I am not one to be so easily outmaneuvered.

"He was thinking of having the Clearwaters and the Uleys over too," Charlie goes on, eagerness building in his voice. "Sort of a playoff party…" He trails off, a shadow of uncertainty coloring his thoughts, and in a startling flash of clarity, I see Bella in her seat across from him at the kitchen table.

Her dark eyes are round in panic, a rush of scarlet blooming on her cheeks, and her lips part to mumble the most obtuse, noncommittal response I have ever heard. "Huh."

Parent and child stare at one another for a handful of seconds, and then Bella abruptly jumps to her feet, gathering the dishes from the table. The motion surprises Charlie, and my clear perception of his point of view winks out, though it is of little consequence. I am already halfway to the kitchen, so that by the time Bella has plugged up the sink and started filling it with soapy water, I am at her side with a dishtowel in hand.

Thwarted for the moment, Charlie heaves a sigh, unwilling to discuss any weekend plans in my presence, and begins to stand, ready to head into the living room for his customary evening ritual of basketball and less than discreet surveillance of Bella and myself.

I glance swiftly at the precious woman beside me, her mahogany locks shielding her features from view except for a swatch of glowing pink skin above her cheekbone, and I realize that this may be my only chance to convince her to go to Florida with me this weekend. If I can get Charlie to play his role correctly – which shouldn't be too hard, given his intense dislike of all things relating to my relationship with his daughter – then this should work.

It is underhanded, to be sure, but I have run out of options. Bella_ must_ be kept safe.

Charlie has taken half a dozen steps towards the threshold while I have thought over how to proceed, so I pivot on heel to face his retreating back, rubbing the dishtowel over a glass as I call out casually, "Charlie."

Bella falters in her scrubbing when I speak her father's name, but otherwise does not react. Charlie, on the other hand, halts in mid-step and turns to look at me in surprise and suspicion. "Yeah?" His brown eyes narrow ever so slightly as he gauges my open expression.

_Here goes nothing,_ I muse wryly. "Did Bella ever tell you that my parents gave her airplane tickets on her last birthday, so that she could visit Renée?" I ask in a mild tone, meeting Charlie's rapidly widening stare.

A soft squeak escapes from Bella. The foam-covered plate she had been washing slips from her fingers while she spins sideways, and it bounces off the edge of the counter before landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. A spray of sudsy water coats the worn linoleum and creates tiny droplets of moisture on my shoes, the hem of my pants, and Charlie has a few globs of soap clinging to the wrinkled fabric above his knees. Naturally, Bella received the worst: a long stream of water darkens the bottom of her shirt, and bubbles dot her jeans from hip to ankle, the toes of her socks drenched in the puddle directly below the sink.

I catch all of these details within a fraction of a second; Charlie hardly seems to notice the mess. His incredulous eyes leave mine to fix on his daughter, whose shocked embarrassment has ignited the tips of her ears to the base of her throat a blazing red. "Bella?" he chokes out, stunned.

She keeps her head lowered as she bends down to grab the fallen plate, her heartbeat thundering madly. "Yeah, they did." Her voice wobbles a little at the end with some repressed emotion. I apologize to her in my head, not trusting myself to look in her direction just yet, or I might forfeit the entire strategy.

The lump in Charlie's throat bobs very obviously as he swallows hard, watching Bella straighten and turn back to the sink, plunging the dish into the water. Afterward, he slowly shifts his gaze to me, his eyes glittering dangerously beneath thick, lowered brows. "No, she never mentioned it," he mutters, each word as sharp-edged as broken glass.

"Hmm." I smoothly reach behind me to take the rinsed off plate from Bella's quivering hand, drying it with the dishtowel.

When I do not offer anything further, a simmering burst of irritation flavors Charlie's obscured thoughts, and then he questions me crossly, "Was there a reason you brought it up?"

Shrugging, I stack the plate on top of the others in the cupboard. "They're about to expire," I remark, almost apologetic. "I think it might hurt Esme's feelings if Bella doesn't use her gift. Not that she'd say anything." I glance back at Charlie, a faint frown twisting my lips, and I can see from the way his head tips slightly to one side that he is beginning to consider the idea. Despite his intense aversion for me, Charlie holds both Carlisle and Esme in high regard and would hate to disrespect their gift, even though the purchase of two round-trip airfare tickets to Jacksonville is merely a trifle compared to what my parents could have given Bella for her birthday.

Meanwhile, from the corner of my eye, I watch Bella's dark head whip towards me, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. I half expect her to challenge my claim, but she remains quiet – save for the fluttering pulse behind her ribs, frantic as a caged bird.

Almost a full minute goes by before Charlie begrudgingly concedes to my statement. "It's probably a good idea for you to visit your mom, Bella. She'd love that." Satisfaction swells like a tiny bubble in his mind, and I would guess that he is thinking that his goal of separating Bella from me for a few days will still be accomplished when she goes to Florida to be with Renée. Then he studies his daughter curiously, his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. "I'm surprised you didn't say anything about this, though," he says.

She moves her shoulders a little, mumbling, "I forgot."

Because of me. Because I had crushed her fragile, loving heart and left her alone in the woods, stealing away all reminders of my presence in her life in hopes of giving her the chance to experience her humanity to its fullest, without the taint of my unnatural world. And instead my reprehensible stupidity had almost killed us both.

Her eyes dart sideways, connecting with mine for a fleeting instant, and my hand twitches with the sudden craving to reach out and touch her – to seek some reassurance that we truly are together, that we will never again be apart.

I try to assuage the need by breathing in her scent, the familiar burn of thirst easily ignored as my lungs fill with the delectable aroma of freesia, my heart automatically singing in recognition, _Bella._

Oblivious to our unspoken exchange, Charlie frowns, an eyebrow arched in skepticism. "You forgot that someone gave you plane tickets?" he comments in a flat voice, tinged with the faintest hint of irony.

"Mmm." Hiding from him, Bella turns back to the sink, the water sloshing quietly around her wrists as she begins to scrub another plate.

_Wait a second…_ A rarely audible mental whisper rumbles through my head, and I scarcely recover from my surprise when Charlie's sharp gaze cuts to me, darkening with fresh distrust. "I noticed that you said _they're_ about to expire, Edward," he says slowly. "How many tickets did your parents give her?" He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for my answer, all but daring me to announce what he is starting to suspect.

"Just one for her…and one for me." The match is struck; the fuse is lit. Inwardly, I brace myself for the impending explosion.

Bella drops another plate – it falls into the sink with a muffled splash – and I can feel the heat of a renewed blush radiating off her skin as she wrings the washcloth between her hands, her heart accelerating to a wild, almost panicked tempo.

Charlie releases a quick, hissing breath, blinking once in astonishment…which immediately turns into furious denial. "That is out of the question!" he shouts, practically rattling the cupboards in the tiny kitchen. Through the haze shrouding his mind, a single outraged thought pierces the quiet: _You are_ not_ taking her away from me again!_

The predator in me bristles at the note of possessiveness in those words, since the darker side of my nature has laid claim on Bella from the first day we met, but I shove the feeling aside. As a father who loves his daughter dearly and has not been able to spend much time with her while she was growing up, Charlie is desperate to share some memories with Bella before she graduates and heads off to college.

More than that, however, he is terrified that he will lose her to something, some_one_, far more insidious.

Me.

Shame grapples with self-worth inside my frozen heart, yet I arrange my features into a look of innocent confusion, meeting Charlie's blazing eyes as I ask, "Why? You just said it was a good idea for her to see her mother."

It is as if I have not spoken. Worked up into a full-blown rage, he stabs a finger at Bella's turned back and bellows, "You're not going anywhere with him, young lady!"

She whirls to face him, fierce and indignant, her warm brown irises sparking with ire when she notices his pointed finger. Her chin goes up, and she retorts in an icy tone, "I'm not a child, Dad. And I'm not grounded anymore, remember?" Her damp palms sit above her hips as she stares her father down, knowing that she has caught him in a contradiction.

But Charlie impulsively decides to exercise his parental authority. "Oh yes, you are. Starting now." His chest swells like a bullfrog's, and he glares sternly at his only child while holding the intimidating pose of a police chief.

"For what?!" Bella shrieks, throwing out her arms. Like so many times before, her anger reminds me of an infuriated kitten puffing itself up to appear tough. It is endearingly adorable. I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a smile.

"Because I said so."

He leaves no room for debate, but I think he underestimates Bella's stubbornness. Which proves true as her small hands return to her waist and she takes a half step forward, bright spots of red coloring her pale cheeks. "Do I need to remind you that I'm a legal adult, Charlie?" she hisses in warning.

Her use of his first name adds fuel to the fire and his temper flares, twisted by a brief sting of hurt, so he lashes out, thundering, "This is my house – you follow my rules!"

The frosty, hostile expression that covers Bella's face would suit a vampire. "If that's how you want it," she snaps. "Do you want me to move out tonight? Or can I have a few days to pack?"

Blood darkens Charlie's ruddy complexion to a vivid scarlet, his deeper-sounding pulse thumping too fast to be healthy for a man of his age, and the anger in his eyes fades to agony as he is confronted with the possibility of another woman that he loves walking out of his life.

As soon as she takes in her father's reaction, Bella winces guiltily – just enough to crack the furious set of her mouth – and then she inhales a deep breath, assuming the role of negotiator. "I'll do my time without complaining when I've done something wrong, Dad," she tells him, a trickle of cool resolve weaving into her voice as she goes on, "but I'm not going to put up with your prejudices."

Unconsciously, she angles her body a half inch towards me, making it clear that she holds our relationship higher than the one she has with Charlie. The realization is both humbling and shamefully satisfying.

"But, you – he –" Charlie stammers, attempting to come up with a reasonable argument, but she talks over him before he can form a complete sentence.

"Now, I know that_ you_ know that I have every right to see Mom for the weekend." Bella lifts an eyebrow skeptically. "You can't honestly tell me you'd object to the plan if I was going with Alice or Angela," she points out like she does not expect a reply, because all three of us are well aware that Charlie's opposition is based solely on the idea of me spending a good deal of unsupervised time with his daughter.

His head jerks up and down in a curt nod. "Girls."

"Would it bother you if I took Jacob?" she asks, no doubt trying to be clever, but my jaw bunches in resentment at her mention of that dog's name. Her father has made his preference for which of us should be with Bella very plain over these last few weeks, and judging from the startled look he gives her, she obviously caught him off-guard. Most likely he would bid the two of them farewell with a smug grin and a cheery wave.

The scowl returns to his face after a moment, and then he answers with forced displeasure, "Yes. That would bother me."

Bella lets out a soft snort. "You're a rotten liar, Dad."

"Bella –" His index finger starts to move in her direction again.

"It's not like I'm headed off to Vegas to be a showgirl or anything," she says, her heartbeat trembling a little when she brings up the destination referenced in our talk of marriage the morning after my family voted to commit murder. "I'm going to see _Mom. _She's just as much my parental authority as you are." Her hands leave her hips to fold across her chest, mimicking Charlie's obstinate pose almost exactly, though she probably does not realize it.

He gives her a slanted look that clearly translates as _you've got to be kidding._

Primed for a fight, she fixes him with a dark, meaningful glower. "Are you implying something about Mom's ability to look after me?"

He flinches, but tries to disguise it by frowning more severely. From what I can gather in his muffled thoughts, the issue of which parent can better provide for Bella's well-being is a sore subject.

"You'd better hope I don't mention this to her," Bella adds, a deliberate threat that she will not likely follow through with; she is much too gracious for that kind of behavior.

But apparently, Charlie elects to take her words at face value. "You'd better not," he warns in response. Heaving a sigh, he shakes his head, frustrated. "I'm not happy about this, Bella."

"There's no reason for you to be upset," she replies in a flippant tone, prompting him to roll his eyes. It seems the battle is over – for now, at least.

Spinning around, Bella yanks the plug from the sink and the cooled soapy water gurgles as it swirls into the drain. "So my homework is done, your dinner is done, the dishes are done, and I'm not grounded." Her voice is businesslike, resolute. "I'm going out," she declares in no uncertain terms, snagging the dishtowel from my grasp to dry her hands, and then drapes it across the countertop. "I'll be back before ten-thirty."

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, betraying my enthusiasm for the prospect of taking Bella away from this house for a few hours. I did promise Esme that we would try to stop by tonight…

Charlie notices the twitch in my polite expression and his eyes flick between Bella and I suspiciously, an angry flush creeping onto his face once again. "Where are you going?" he demands. I have no doubt that he will put an APB on my license plate if we are not back on time.

"I'm not sure. I'll keep it within a ten-mile radius, though. Okay?" Bella looks at him in expectation, waiting to see if he wants to go another round.

Grumbling under his breath that he doesn't really have a choice, Charlie turns and stomps out of the kitchen. The television in the next room hums to life seconds later, and he cranks up the volume so that the rowdy cheering of the crowd and the noises of the players running along the basketball court seems to fill the entire house.

A quiet sigh whispers beside me, and I glance sideways to watch Bella's shoulders slump, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth as she stares regretfully at the entrance to the living room.

I, too, cannot help but feel somewhat responsible for the creation of this rift in her relationship with her father. Although Bella is determined as ever to cut off all ties to her humanity and join me in this unending life, I also know that she wants to give those she is leaving behind some measure of peace before the final step is taken.

But guilt is an unnecessary weight for her to carry. That particular burden – being fully aware that I have seized the heart and soul of a perfect mortal girl, branded myself with her love and, realizing that I cannot survive eternity without her, am willing to condemn her to an existence of bloodlust and death – is mine, and mine alone.

Only a minute has passed since Charlie left; the drain in the sink lets out one last gulp as the water finally disappears. My earlier excitement resurfaces, and I incline my head towards Bella, murmuring with a slight smile, "We're going out?"

As soon as I finish, she releases her lip and whirls to face me, scowling with renewed ferocity. "Yes," she bites out in a low, acerbic tone. "I think I'd like to speak to you _alone."_ Then she storms across the floor to the staircase and grabs her jacket, shoving her arms through the sleeves while her heated brown eyes study my expression.

I must appear more relaxed than she would like, for her frown deepens as she puts on her shoes, and I swear that the faintest growl rumbles in the back of her throat when she brushes past me as I hold the front door open for her.

The rain has ceased for the moment, though the air is heavy with moisture, and I easily reach the Volvo before Bella, pulling on the handle of the passenger door so that she can climb inside. I can feel her glare burning into my marble skin while I loop around the front of the car at human speed and sit down behind the wheel.

She turns her whole body towards me, her pulse jumping in irritation as I go about the motions of starting up the engine and adjusting the heat so that she will be warm enough, and then her patience wears out. "What was _that?"_ she exclaims, her temper causing the already irresistible scent of her blood to spread more profusely within the confined space, mingling with the light fragrance of the rain to create a magnificent bouquet that makes my head swim…but not with thirst.

Memories of her warmth melting into my chest, her lips teasing mine, her fingers combing through the hair at the nape of my neck, even the dangerously erotic caress of her tongue floods my senses – each one as vivid as if I am experiencing it all over again.

And as such, I have to regain my focus before I can give her a coherent reply. Her heart throbs once, and I then have the presence of mind to say in a gentle voice, "I know you want to see your mother, Bella – you've been talking about her in your sleep. Worrying actually."

Thrown off balance, she jerks back in her seat, bewildered. "I have?"

I nod, and her gaze shifts a bit to the side, becoming distracted as she mulls over this new piece of information. Actually, Renée has frequented Bella's nighttime mumblings considerably less than the dog, or myself, but any time that her worries for her scatterbrained mother interrupted her pleas to_ Jake_ granted me a much-needed reprieve.

But that is beside the point. The fact that Bella rambles about Renée in her sleep is a legitimate reason to push for a visit this weekend – other than the homicidal vampire due to arrive in less than thirty-six hours, of course.

To quell the sudden rush of protective anxiety roiling in my hollow stomach, I goad her teasingly, "But, clearly, you were too much of a coward to deal with Charlie, so I interceded on your behalf." A lopsided smirk tugs at my mouth.

Her eyes return to mine, flaring wide open in disbelieving annoyance. "Interceded?" she quotes in a shrill voice. "You threw me to the sharks!"

My eyes roll towards the ceiling. Of course she would be more afraid of her father's wrath than of being in the company of vampires, a far more literal representation of her accusing metaphor. "I don't think you were in any danger," I remark dryly. The majority of his rage was centered on me – a richly deserved consequence of my actions seven months ago – and one that I am prepared to endure, since both of us believe that Bella forgave me much too easily.

She slumps against the leather seat with a huff, lips bowed into an unfairly enticing pout that I struggle to ignore as she clicks her seatbelt in place and I can at last put the Volvo in gear, devoting some of my attention to the road. "I told you I didn't want to fight with Charlie," she complains in a moody tone, looking out the windshield at the drenched twilit forest.

"Nobody said that you had to," I tell her, neglecting to mention that I had been counting on her willful self-reliance to bristle as soon as Charlie tried to exact some authority over her.

Frowning, her head snaps sideways so she can glare at me in exasperation. "I can't help myself when he gets all bossy like that – my natural teenage instincts overpower me." She says this in a sensible manner, as though their argument was simply an example of cause and effect, and then she gives a little shrug.

The way she reasons things out is the most fascinating, utterly absurd thinking I have ever encountered, and I cannot even hear her mind. What a curious, intriguing place it must be…

Rather than dwell on that particular frustration, I chuckle at Bella's endearingly naïve statement, murmuring, "Well, that's not my fault."

We lapse into silence, the quiet hum of the engine providing a perfect background to the symphony of her heartbeat, her soft inhalations and exhales – yet I am certain that Bella is not about to drop the subject; she is too persistent, and I can feel her scrutiny as I peer out the windshield, driving in slow, aimless loops around town.

Without warning she asks, her voice fraught with suspicion, "Does this sudden urge to see Florida have anything to do with the party at Billy's place?"

I clamp my teeth together to stifle a growl. I had quite honestly forgotten about that little scheme he and Charlie must have cooked up for this weekend. My fingers flex around the steering wheel as images of my Bella surrounded by immature, uncontrolled mongrels and their hardheaded kin flit across my mind's eye, ending with a searing picture that is part memory, part nightmare: Bella, reaching out to a pair of large red-brown hands – hands that belong to the filthy cur bent on claiming her as his own…

My jaw loosens just enough for me to answer tersely, "Nothing at all. It wouldn't matter if you were here or on the other side of the world, you still wouldn't be going."

It seems that my dominant nature has reared its ugly head once again, but I refuse to yield on this point. Since I am forbidden by the terms of the treaty to enter La Push, Bella will not be permitted to set one foot onto their lands, regardless of whether or not she believes that the pack means her no harm. It is too dangerous to entrust_ them_ – unstable, undisciplined, with temperaments as volatile as fire and tinder – with her safety.

And I will_ not_ hand her over to the dog, whose pretense of mere friendship has already worn thin, exposing his true intentions.

_She is mine, _the jealous monster hisses from the dark recesses of my mind.

Needless to say, Bella's reaction to my admittedly overbearing response is to angrily suck in a breath through her clenched teeth, blood pounding through her veins at a fierce rate, matching the fire in her eyes.

Just as I expect her to start shouting, her mouth flattens into a thin, determined line and she looks aside, taking slow breaths to calm her heartbeat.

I sigh very quietly. The last thing I want to do is get into another argument with her – especially over the dogs that she insists on calling 'friends'. Smothering my hair-trigger temper once more in layers of discipline and sheer force of will, I glance at her from the corner of my eye. "So what do you want to do tonight?" I murmur, pleased that my tone is again soft and affectionate.

Bella thinks for a moment, and then peers in my direction, the warmth of her chocolate eyes thawing what remains of my ill mood. "Can we go to your house?" She loops a strand of hair behind an ear shyly as she comments, "I haven't seen Esme in so long."

Grinning broadly, I steer the Volvo towards the highway. "She'll like that." Which is a vast understatement, given how thrilled she was when I suggested early this morning that maybe Bella would want to come by the house later. My smile tips to one side as I envision Esme's joy and relief when she finds out about the trip to Florida, so I add mischievously, "Especially when she hears what we're doing this weekend."

Her loud groan fills the car, and I laugh as we reach the highway, slipping my hand from the gearshift to rest atop her knee, though I am prepared to withdraw if she decides she is still too annoyed with me for physical contact. But to my everlasting delight, she promptly grasps my hand and flips it over, weaving her small fingers through mine.

When we reach the house, it is alight with a warm golden glow – Alice must have seen that Bella and I would be making an appearance and ensured that it would be comfortable for her – and I park a few feet away from the front porch beneath the sheltering branches of the ancient cedars.

Esme is waiting for us just inside the door. "Bella," she greets so warmly that I have to smile at her in gratitude. My mother's inherent desire to nurture has opened a whole new level of understanding in the parent-child bond for Bella, since she has spent most of her life as the caretaker with both Renée and Charlie.

I have often wondered if her independent streak would cause her to balk at Esme's displays of affection, but once again those doubts are put to rest as Bella walks without hesitation into my mother's cool, gentle embrace. "I'm so glad you came to visit us tonight," Esme murmurs, pulling away to gesture towards the massive front room. "It's a little too quiet around here."

"Speak for yourself," Alice calls with a tinkling laugh.

I wind an arm around Bella's waist and guide her into the room, watching her expressions as she looks around at its occupants.

Carlisle and Jasper have set up a chessboard on the low coffee table in front of the sofa, and each of them is crouched down so that the game is at eye level, their stares locked on the black and white pieces.

Alice is sprawled sideways on the straight-backed chair near the window wall, flipping through a couture magazine that features a special section about wedding gowns, judging by the bold text on the cover. She waves in our direction without looking up, her thoughts a riot of dress designs, color schemes, and flower choices, along with the singsong phrase, _It's only a matter of time…_

"Emmett and Rosalie are out hunting?" Bella poses the question to no one in particular.

Alice hums in assent, though by now everyone in my family is aware of her vision of Victoria and my plans to keep Bella innocent of this weekend's proceedings, which is part of the reason why Em and Rose have gone in search of big game this evening. We all will take turns heading out during the night; I will have to glut myself as much as possible, given that the wildlife population in Jacksonville is practically nonexistent, and I do not know if I can stomach aquatic blood – but I will if there is no other option.

Leading Bella to the vacant sofa, I gently pull her down with me in the very center, unable to suppress a sigh of contentment when she folds her legs onto the cushion beside her and rests her feather-light weight trustingly against me, her head on the curve of my shoulder.

_They are so lovely together._ Esme curls onto the mate to my sister's chair directly across the room from the sofa, her sketchbook in her lap, and gazes fondly at Bella and I. A second later, her thin wedge of charcoal is whipping across the paper in sure, delicate strokes, her topaz eyes never once leaving us. She is purposefully averting her attention from the drawing to conceal it from me until it is finished.

After a few minutes, I turn to Bella, intent on asking her if she would like to go up to my room – but I notice that she is watching the chess game with unabashed fascination, her deep brown eyes riveted to the checkered board.

Carlisle and Jasper are a fairly even match when it comes to one-on-one competition; they are the closest out of the family in both age and experience, and each has a certain affinity for strategizing, though their styles are completely different. Jasper is better suited for more vicious, crafty campaigns, whereas Carlisle is able to identify several courses of action that will accomplish his goals – some of which involve little to no sacrifice at all.

Furthermore, my father has had centuries to practice holding his emotions in check in many situations, and that levelheaded calm is what keeps my brother on his toes instead of falling back on his talent to see where the next attack may arise.

A glossy black knight slides into an empty square a few spaces from the white king. "Check," Jasper declares quietly.

Carlisle strokes his chin thoughtfully, contemplating his answering move, and Bella leans forward slightly beside me. I move her dark hair behind her shoulder, remarking in a low undertone, "Do you remember how the game is played?"

"I think so," she whispers with a short nod. "But I wasn't very good at it. I kept forgetting which pieces can move diagonally, or in an 'L' shape, or in a straight line…" She blows out a quick breath, ruffling the tiny hairs on her forehead. "It's too confusing," she says, her nose wrinkling as she makes a face.

I chuckle softly and press a lingering kiss to her smooth, balmy cheek. "I could teach you, if you like."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Her voice is breathless, a shiver rippling through her fragile body as I move my mouth to the hollow beneath her ear, and then across the curve of her jaw.

"Why not?" I pause on the invitingly soft skin of her throat, her pulse trembling beneath my lips, and for a fraction of a second my mind is absent of everything but Bella – her scent, her warmth – in spite of the fact that my brother and father are absorbed in their game less than a foot from our location, my sister is studiously ignoring us, and my mother is still sketching on her paper, a tiny smile of approval pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She inhales a quivering breath, blushing a perfect dusky hue that would make any rose envious, and blurts out, "Conflict of interest."

Esme covers her mouth with her free hand to stifle a giggle.

_You might want to work up a bit more to the whole lack of privacy thing,_ Alice advises, her grin hidden behind the pages of her magazine. _Bella's not used to how we live with that yet._

I roll my eyes, but nevertheless straighten up, feeling a bit like a naughty teenager caught making out with his girlfriend, which is a surprisingly heady sensation. By my reckoning, I have endured at least half a century of listening to and experiencing secondhand the acts of affection exchanged between three couples, so it seems only fair that I return the favor as often as possible. Besides, our behavior is decidedly less indecorous than some of the things I have been unwillingly subjected to in the past.

The white bishop half a dozen spaces from the opposite end of the board glides three squares to the right and captures the only empty spot around Jasper's king. "Checkmate."

Golden eyes blink once in astonishment, and then Jasper shakes his head, smiling faintly. "Well played," he admits, and flicks his king over with a finger – a clear sign of defeat. _I should've seen it coming,_ he berates himself mentally, _but he is difficult to read sometimes. His emotions are so centered, so undisturbed… it's almost eerie._

Carlisle stands with fluid ease and brushes off his pants in a very human gesture. "You nearly had me with that last set of moves," he says in all honesty, not trying to placate him. "I would keep that strategy in mind; it could be very effective."

"But not against you." Jasper's smile widens, his teeth gleaming in his overhead light.

"No," my father chuckles. Then he glances over at me and Bella, his expression softening. "It's wonderful to have you here with us again, Bella," he murmurs fondly. "I think I speak for us all when I say that it hasn't been the same without you." He bends down and touches her shoulder, squeezing tenderly, and then turns to Esme, who is looking up at him with her heart in her eyes. "Shall we?" Carlisle whispers, extending a hand.

Esme clasps it at once, rising to her feet, and sets her sketchbook and charcoal on top of the piano as they walk towards the doorway. The two of them vanish a handful of seconds later into the shadowy dampness of the forest.

Suddenly Alice leaps from her seat, the magazine landing on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Startled, Bella jumps against me, blinking away a sheen of moisture from her eyes, and she swipes at the skin under them quickly as my sister announces, "Edward, I want you to play chess with me." With her tiny hands balled into fists on her hips, a thin black eyebrow cocked in challenge above her twinkling ocher eyes, she reminds me of a temperamental sprite.

I look at her dubiously. "The last time we played you said that you would never submit to that kind of swindling humiliation ever again." She had also used several other choice words, but I do not wish to repeat those in Bella's presence.

"Yeah, well, I have it all figured out now." Her grin is fierce, competitive. "I know how to keep you out of my head."

Amused but willing, I agree. "All right." Reluctantly, I loosen my hold around Bella and come to my feet. Smirking to himself, Jasper moves away from the board and perches on the armrest of the sofa. "Black, I assume?" I ask Alice, but she surprises me by flitting to the side that Carlisle had just vacated.

"No, I want to go first." She collapses gracefully into a cross-legged position, arranging the white pieces into their starting places in a blur of motion.

So I walk around to the opposite side and kneel down, organizing the black pieces in the same manner. Bella leans forward to put her elbows on her knees, her stare round with keen interest as we prepare to begin.

Alice moves a pawn, and the whirlwind of Sanskrit poetry in her mind washes away like sand on the seashore, to be replaced by flashes of the immediate future. Like lightning, images of the game's progression across the board fill her thoughts, and I catalogue every one of them that I manage to catch, planning a countermove to whichever one she decides to pick. In that way, I am limiting my future to more of a reaction than actual choices, which forces Alice to direct the outcome on her own.

To give her a bit more of a fighting chance, I scoot a pawn two spaces forward. An entirely new series of images burst across her mind's eye, and I use the same process again.

"What are they doing?" I hear Bella whisper in a far corner of my awareness.

Jasper is struggling to control his mirth as he explains, "Playing chess. Most of the game is played in their minds. Alice foresees all the moves Edward will make, and he reads all of her responses to those moves in her thoughts." He pauses for a moment when Alice moves another pawn, and then remarks lightly, "Though she's getting more frustrated by the minute. Her plan to keep him in the dark must be a flop."

I slide a pawn towards the center of the board, intent on what Alice is predicting will happen within the next two dozen moves. If I am correct, there should be a checkmate materializing very soon.

Sure enough, a rock-solid vision of a white king surrounded by black enters Alice's mind. She growls under her breath, the floorboards vibrating underneath her tiny frame, and she knocks her king over with a flick of her thumb and forefinger, huffing in petulant surrender.

"Checkmate," I state unnecessarily. She gives me what Bella would call a basilisk glare.

Afterward, the most beautiful sound in the world dances into my ears. Bella is laughing with such carefree delight – more than I have seen in the last few weeks – that I cannot help but to join in, harmonizing with her amusement.

Jasper chortles quietly a few seconds later, and even Alice is compelled to giggle, as well; her high-pitched peals singing out above the chorus like wind chimes on a breeze.

"That –" Bella wheezes out through her laughter "– was one of the – funniest things I have – ever seen!" She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, her face flushed a deep crimson and her smile huge.

_She's still intrigued by the game,_ Jasper thinks once the hilarity has calmed. _I wonder…_ "Would you like to play me, Bella?" he inquires unexpectedly.

"Oh." Her expression switches from laughing to flustered in a millisecond as she stares slack-jawed at my brother. "Um, well… I mean, I'd like to give it a try, but…" She fidgets, twisting her hands nervously in her lap as she confesses softly, "I'm not very good."

He smiles at her in reassurance. "Then you'll learn as you go along. Okay?" Smoothly swapping places with Alice, he sits down on the floor, and then looks over at her in anticipation.

I move aside while Bella stumbles to her feet and takes my spot next to the table, eyeing the chessboard with a mixture of dread and excitement. She shifts the two pawns that I had moved back into position and glances up at Jasper, who can tell even without his talent that she is more than a little on edge.

"It's just a friendly game, Bella," Jasper tells her in a gentle voice. "Don't be afraid to ask questions if you're confused about anything."

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and reaches for a pawn near the center of the line.

The match progresses at a slow pace, as Bella pipes up quite a few times to get clarification on certain rules and so forth, but eventually her pieces have been whittled down to three pawns, a rook, and her king. All of them are crammed into the back corner, awaiting their surrender. "I told you I wasn't very good," she mumbles, rolling her defeated queen between her palms.

"You're doing fine," my brother replies at once.

"I just can't understand most of it." Shrugging, she looks down at the piece in her hand, and then grumbles to herself, though all three of us can hear her clearly, "My stupid human brain can't keep up."

I smother a groan, raking my fingers through my hair in agitation. It makes me so frustrated when she treats her humanity like a disease, clinging to the illusion that becoming immortal will right all of the wrongs that she sees in herself, when in truth she will be losing much more than she hopes to gain. I wish that she could grasp the consequences of her choice before it is too late – that the potential death of her soul is only a facet of the many sacrifices that this life will force upon her.

Jasper sighs, almost weary. _I swear…the two of you have angst down to a science._ Using his ability to manipulate emotions, he levels off the depressing dips in the atmosphere and waits until the new climate takes effect before offering, "Tell you what: I'll make you a promise, Bella." She looks up, curious. "After you become one of us, I will teach you how to win at chess."

Her chocolate eyes light up, a hopeful smile timidly pulling at her mouth. "Really?"

"I give you my word," he says, and holds out his right hand.

Bella places her small palm in his and they shake on it, wearing identical grins of true camaraderie.

Alice beams as the flickering vision of a scarlet-eyed Bella staring intently at this same chessboard while Jasper points to certain pieces floats through her mind like mist, burning away an instant later as another more immediate outcome takes its place. "You should probably head back to Charlie's," Alice comments in that distant tone she uses whenever the future has seized control of her thoughts. "He's holding you to your promise to be home before ten-thirty, and I doubt you want to be grounded again." Her eyelids flutter as she returns to the present, and then smiles ruefully at her best friend.

Reluctant to leave, Bella accepts my hand to help her to her feet, murmuring a glum farewell to my siblings, though she manages to perk up a little when Alice tells her that she will be back again soon._ I'll be watching you both carefully until you're in Florida,_ my sister adds for my benefit as I shepherd Bella to the front door. _There are still some holes in my visions regarding Victoria that are making me antsy. I don't want anything to slip through the cracks._

"Thank you, Alice," I mumble swiftly over my shoulder just before the door swings shut.

Once Bella is safely tucked into the passenger seat, I start up the engine and drive along the twisting road to the highway, determined to have her at her father's several minutes before her self-imposed curfew.

The porch light is blazing in the darkness when we pull into the driveway – an obvious sign that Charlie is awaiting our arrival – and I concentrate for a moment on the half-heard whispers of thought inside the little house to see if he intends to stir up their earlier argument.

Not surprisingly, I can pick up my name as well as Bella's…but the direction of his musings startles me so that my foot slips and I nearly plow the Volvo into the living room. It is fortunate that I already put it in park. But the engine revs with a roar because of my blunder, and I chance a brief glance at Bella, expecting her to wonder what just happened – yet she does not appear to have noticed. She is glaring at the illuminated door and windows with a resigned frown.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek as a smattering of conversation starters that Charlie read in a parenting leaflet the school had mailed out a few months ago flits through his head. This is one human experience I am sure that Bella would be more than happy to live without, but it is simply too entertaining to forewarn her about the impending awkward father-daughter chat.

"You'd better not come inside," she says, breaking into my amused distraction. "It will only make things worse." She reaches for the latch of her seatbelt, her face tilted downward, so I allow my smirk to have full dominion for a half second.

When I have control over my mirth once again, I remark in a lighthearted voice, "His thoughts are relatively calm."

Something in my tone must tip her off, because she peers up at my expression with a puckered brow, questioning me with her eyes. My lips twitch as I struggle to restrain a smile, and eventually Bella heaves a deep sigh that sounds positively morose. "I'll see you later," she mumbles, despondent.

Chuckling at her melodrama, though I feel an echo of her gloom in my silent chest at the notion of being apart from her for a hour or so, I lean forward and kiss the top of her head, filling every inch of my lungs with her appealing scent. "I'll be back when Charlie's snoring," I vow softly. I have to hunt as much as possible before we leave for Florida, and although I would love the challenge of big game, I will have to sate my appetite with a nearby herd of deer while Bella readies for bed.

But I_ would_ enjoy listening in to the discussion that Charlie has planned…

_Let it be, Edward,_ I command myself as I watch Bella march up the steps like a soldier entering battle, and I am halfway down the street by the time she closes the door behind her.

I return the Volvo to its customary spot in the enormous garage behind my family's home and, as an afterthought, tuck my cell phone in my jacket pocket before racing into the woods, my nostrils flared wide open to detect the scents of any prey in the vicinity.

A few miles in, I pick up the faint stirring of underbrush some yards to the east, and the earthy musk of a group of herbivores is carried towards me on the wind. At the base of a weathered fir, I peel off my jacket, then reach for my phone to ensure that it is on silent and will not disturb the hunt – when the device suddenly vibrates in my hand.

I barely register the name on the tiny screen before it is pressed to my ear. "Alice," I say, uncaring that my voice has frightened the herd into retreat, "what is it? Have you seen something else?"

"No, Edward, it's what I_ haven't_ seen!" she trills frantically. "Bella – she's just gone! I can't see her; everything disappeared!"

The world seems to tilt at a bizarre angle. I cannot seem to catch my breath, even though I have no real need of it. While my sister's panicked voice continues to shriek over the phone, the gnawing emptiness that had consumed me the second I heard the words, _"He's at the funeral"_ weeks ago awakens like a voracious beast and begins to eat away at the soul I thought had been lost forever.

Alice can no longer see Bella's future. Which means either one of two possible scenarios, and both are utterly unacceptable.

The plastic shell of the cell phone creaks underneath my fingertips. "How much time?" I manage to ground out, my voice quivering with a brewing storm of emotion.

"Minutes," Alice responds, still upset. "I see her get in her truck and start driving, and then there's nothing else! Edward, what's –?"

I hang up on her. Snatching my jacket from the ground with my other hand, I launch full-tilt into the forest, instinctively heading in the direction of the town, and I try in vain to dismiss the enraged tinge of red coloring my vision.

Indifferent to my surroundings and needing something through which to channel my anger, I ram my body into the thick trunk of an old cedar, toppling the tree.

The two scenarios regarding the disappearance of Bella's future resurface in my mind, and I begin to calculate how to proceed as the ground blurs beneath my feet. In either case, my first priority is to guarantee Bella's safety, though the means may differ significantly depending on the circumstance.

I swerve around another broad, ancient tree instead of destroying it, reasoning that I will need my fury to help me stay focused if the first scenario is correct. But if the second … well, I shall have to trust that my innate desire to protect will prevent me from acting rashly.

My self-control is put to the test as soon as I burst through the foliage across the street from the house. The malice and bloodshed that would have accompanied the first scenario is nonexistent as I stealthily approach, my gaze riveted on the middle window of the second floor, propped halfway open at all times in silent invitation.

I watch Bella whirl away from the pane, a nervous but almost gleeful smile on her face as she yanks a flannel shirt from her closet and pulls it on, vanishing into the hallway. Her footsteps clatter down the stairs, the jangle of her keys causing a surge of suspicion to arise in Charlie's muted thoughts, and then she confirms what I have been unwilling to admit since the moment I received Alice's call. "You care if I go see Jake tonight? I won't stay long." Her voice is breathless with exertion, and perhaps a hint of thrill, as though she is taking pleasure in disregarding my pleas to stay safe by sneaking out to see the dog.

Pain spears my chest, but I cast it aside and dash across the yard to the rusted red monstrosity parked beside the police cruiser. The metal hinges whine sharply when I shove open the hood, but I remove the specific part and close it back up before Charlie answers in smug satisfaction, "Sure, kid. No problem. Stay as long as you like."

Climbing into the cab, I stare at the fairly decent-looking spark plug in my hands, clenching my teeth together so hard that I am vaguely impressed I haven't chipped one. My heart is in such a quandary that I can scarcely concentrate, though a small part of my awareness is always, always centered on the reason for my existence. Her heartbeat is racing at a frenzied tempo, her light steps ringing out as she skips down the front steps and heads for her truck, her head whipping from side to side like she is an escapee from the county jail.

The door creaks open, and a cloud of her sweet fragrance precedes her warmth, both sensations disrupting my already turbulent emotions.

I want to rail at her, to demand that she explain why – _why _she would even consider endangering herself after I had begged her not to, after describing as best I could using feeble words that she is my gravity, my life, and I will cease to be without her. I want to take her away from here – to run so far and so fast that no one will ever find us, no one will ever steal her from me. I want to make her mine in every possible way, to mark her both inside and out so that the world, the mutt and even God Himself will know that she belongs to_ me_ and no one else for eternity.

I want all these things and so much more – more than I could ever hope to express – but I do not say anything. I only sit in silence, my eyes trained on the lump of metal and wires between my fingers because I cannot trust myself to look at her exquisite face and not explode, and wait for her to notice me.

Bella jams the key into the ignition and twists, then purses her lips in confusion when the only sound is a loud click. Not to be deterred, she tries again…with no success.

The spark plug continues to rotate slowly in my hands, though I have half a mind to crush it like a tin can, and after another couple of seconds, she finally catches sight of my small movements in her peripheral vision. "Gah!" she squeaks, jumping sideways and nearly banging her head against the window, her pulse hammering wildly as she gapes at me in shock.

"Alice called," I tell her in a low, even voice, watching the faint light from the house glint dully across the worn surface of the metal.

A tiny gasp leaves her mouth; she must not have considered the idea that my sister is on the alert for the slightest change in every nuance of her life.

I go on, murmuring, "She got nervous when your future rather abruptly disappeared five minutes ago." _Hysterical_ would be a better description of how she sounded on the phone, but the term I had used will suffice for now. I have yet to discover any words that could possibly encompass what I felt in that moment – what I am still feeling even as I speak.

In order to buy myself some time, I begin to dialogue about the reason why Alice could no longer see Bella's future. "Because she can't see the wolves, you know. Had you forgotten that? When you decide to mingle your fate with theirs, you disappear, too." Flames scorch down my throat when I pause to take a breath, but I am comforted by the ache, because it reminds my unsettled mind that she is here, safe with me. She has not disappeared.

"You couldn't know that part, I realize that," I say quietly, whether to console her or myself, I do not know. "But can you understand why that might make me a little…"_ terrified, distraught, insane _"…anxious? Alice saw you disappear, and she couldn't even tell if you'd come home or not. Your future got lost, just like theirs."

Hazarding a brief glance to the side, I see that the expression on Bella's face has transformed from open-mouthed surprise to tight-lipped anger. Her arms are folded tensely over her chest, and the heat of her annoyed flush creeps through the cool air in the cab to warm my granite skin.

Selfishly craving a few more minutes in her presence before she storms back in the house, I resume my meaningless twaddle. "We're not sure why this is. Some natural defense they're born with? That doesn't seem entirely likely, since I haven't had any trouble reading their thoughts." Which the pack is well aware of, given that the wolf Emmett and I saw two days ago had switched to thinking strictly in their native tongue.

Then I am reminded of the delusional ramblings I had been forced to put up with the last time Bella had seen the dog, and I add, "The Blacks' at least. Carlisle theorizes that it's because their lives are so ruled by their transformations. It's more an involuntary reaction than a decision. Utterly unpredictable, and it changes everything about them."

That is why it is too dangerous for her to be around one of them. The slightest provocation could bring about the phase from human to wolf, and there is no defense for anyone who might be too close when that happens. "In that instant when they shift from one form to the other," I comment in an even quieter tone, "they don't really even exist. The future can't hold them…"

The silence is heavy, pressing down on us like the thick, charged air just before a thunderstorm. I wait almost a full minute for Bella to react, but she only glares at me with icy yet somehow burning dark eyes.

Twirling the spark plug in one last rotation, I realize that I still have the opportunity to reconcile this spat by behaving like a gentleman instead of an overprotective ass, although I make no excuses for my actions. So I promise her serenely, "I'll put your car back together in time for school, in case you'd like to drive yourself." While I will miss her every second, I do want Bella to understand that she has the freedom to express her frustration in any manner she chooses, and if that means I will have to survive this entire weekend without hearing her voice or touching her once, then so be it. No sacrifice compares to her safety.

Bella's lips have long since turned a sallow pinkish-white from being compressed together. She inhales deeply through her nose, grabs her keys and then throws open the door, her body rigid with fury as she clambers out of the truck.

Just as she starts to shove it closed with all of her frail strength, I make another sacrifice, whispering to disguise the hurt, "Shut your window if you want me to stay away tonight. I'll understand."

_Slam!_

The harsh noise is suddenly deafening in the cab that is permanently saturated with the fragrance of freesia. At length, I raise my eyes from the engine part balanced between my fingertips and watch Bella cross the yard, each step hitting the ground with exaggerated force, her loud breaths hissing through gritted teeth. Flinging open the front door, she stomps inside and yanks it shut behind her with a bang.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asks, puzzled by the change in her attitude.

Her tromping strides falter for a minute as she growls in reply, "Truck won't start."

"Want me to look at it?"

I slide out of the antiquated vehicle with the spark plug gripped tightly in one hand. Charlie has a limited understanding of automobiles, but even he would notice that something is missing from the truck's engine. At this point, however, I cannot muster the effort to care. I will dismantle the entire thing with my bare hands in a matter of minutes if it will prevent Bella from crossing the boundary line to La Push.

"No," she mutters bitterly. "I'll try it in the morning." The banister groans faintly under her palm, and the bottommost step lets out a soft creak as she starts to head upstairs.

But her father is almost as stubborn as she is, and unexpectedly suggests, "Want to use my car?"

There is a half second's hesitation. In that time, I rapidly reformulate my plan to ensure that she stays here tonight. The police cruiser is newer, though it would be easy to guarantee that it will not leave this driveway either. Crouching down, I am halfway underneath the vehicle when Bella says in sullen defeat, "No. I'm tired. 'Night."

I leap back onto my feet, mildly relieved that I do not have to vandalize the chief's car, and listen to Bella's surprisingly thunderous footfalls for one so small ascend the staircase and stamp down the hall to her bedroom.

In contrast, I move soundlessly to the cluster of shrubs near her window and conceal the spark plug within the moist earth around their tangled roots. Then I glance up as her light blares a shaft of yellow across the lawn.

With tense eyes and a heavy heart, I watch her approach the window, scowling into the darkness. Without the slightest flicker of reluctance, she grasps the metal frame and pulls down hard. I flinch at the resounding crash, the glass quivering in the wake of her violent effort.

The rattling pane starts to shake loose the once solid resolve I had felt earlier, when I had swore to myself that I would do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. Part of me yearns to cling to the tree branch just outside her window and beg for forgiveness, but it rings false as soon as I try to put together the words for an apology that would have no real meaning because I am not sorry for foiling her attempt to visit the dog.

Leaning against the side of the house, I realize bleakly that I now have plenty of time to hunt, and I sigh, the appeal of satiating my thirst a dim memory compared to the agonizing prospect of being barred from the only sanctuary I have ever known after weeks of staying as close as possible to assure both of our still healing hearts that we would never be separated again.

Is the mutt's friendship so valuable to her that she would use it as a barrier between us? Or…or are her feelings for him less platonic than even she seems to believe?

A final shiver passes through the windowpane above me. Resigned to my fate, I step away from the weathered siding, preparing to dart back into the woods – when a soft, muted sigh breaks the dismal stillness. Metal slides against wood, and a waft of warm, sweetly scented air drifts out of the open window.

Grinning, I quickly scale the tree to my usual perch. Partially hidden behind clumps of deep green leaves, I wait while Bella gathers her bag of toiletries and pajamas, a faint smile curving her full lips, and then she disappears into the bathroom.

In one effortless leap, I land with the barest thump beside her bed. On any other night, I would have occupied myself elsewhere until Charlie was fast asleep, but after facing the misery of potentially spending an evening alone, I simply cannot stay away.

I almost sit down on the far end of the mattress, but change my mind in mid-motion and walk over to the rocking chair instead. Bella may have reopened her window to me, but that does not imply that I will be afforded all of my previous privileges tonight.

When she reenters the room and closes the door, her eyes find me immediately, tracking the gentle motion of the chair for a moment before she purposely looks away. I drink in her every movement like a vagrant that has found water in the middle of a desert.

It does not escape my notice that the line of her shoulders is stretched taut, and the smile I had glimpsed before has not erased the angry shadows darkening her brow. However, I get the distinct impression that she is forcing herself to ignore me as her head jerks sideways, keeping the rocking chair out of sight while she climbs under the covers. Then she promptly rolls over to face the opposite side of the room – giving me the cold shoulder, so to speak – but her fluttering heartbeat tells me that despite her aloof performance, she is pleased to see me.

I cease from rocking back and forth and lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs, my hands clasped between my knees as though in supplication. "I'm sorry that I made you angry," I murmur quietly, staring at the twisted mass of silky hair decorating her pillow. It is the only apology I can sincerely give, and the only one that truly matters now.

She exhales, and then wriggles around to look at me, her rosy cheek cradled inside a palm as she props herself up on an elbow. "I know," she says in a low voice, the fire in her chocolate irises waning to a softer glow. "I know you're only trying to keep me safe. But I really wish you would just trust me, Edward." She lowers her gaze, forlorn, and something inside of me breaks.

In less time than she has to blink, I am kneeling on the floor before her, clutching her free hand in both of mine. "I_ do_ trust you, Bella," I declare fervently. "With everything that I am."

"Then why don't you believe me when I say that I'll be safe at La Push?" she asks, point-blank.

I answer her with equal candor, "Because I don't trust _them._ I've told you – the wolves are unstable, unpredictable. And add that to the fact that Alice can't see you whenever you're around them…" Icy tendrils of dread slither along the curve of my spine, and I have to fight off a shudder. "It's just too much of a risk." I lift my hand to cup the side of her delicate neck, the heat chasing away the remnants of my fear, and I stroke the velvety skin beneath her jaw with my thumb. "I can't lose you again," I admit, no louder than a breath.

Pressing her small, warm palm to my cheek, she vows with tender yet unwavering conviction, "You won't lose me." An enormous, drawn-out yawn stops her from leaning in for a kiss, but I compensate her shortly after, capturing her mouth with mine until she pulls away to yawn again. "Ugh," she moans irritably.

"Go to sleep, love," I tell her, chuckling. "I'll be back in a few hours." With one last kiss, I straighten up and then head towards the window.

"You're not going to stay?"

I turn around, raising my eyebrows at her incredulous expression. "As immensely grateful as I am that you didn't leave the window closed," I reply in a teasing, affectionate tone, "I should get in another quick hunt before we leave for Florida tomorrow afternoon. So be sure to pack first thing in the morning," I smirk crookedly, "or I'll send Alice over to help."

She buries her face in her pillow with a groan.

Laughing, I launch myself into the cool night and spring silently onto the damp grass.

A petite silhouette emerges from the darkness behind the house a fraction of a second later, the golden light from Bella's room illuminating a pair of reproachful ocher eyes.

_So you use me as a threat? Can't say I'm surprised._ Alice crosses her arms and glares up at me.

My astonishment at her arrival must be obvious, for she rolls her eyes and nods towards the upstairs window. _I saw that you would be nervous about leaving her alone while you hunt and were about to call, so I saved you the trouble._ The scowl returns to her elfin face. _And thanks_ so_ much for hanging up on me. I was freaking out for a whole thirty seconds before I could see her again. It was driving Jazz crazy._

"Sorry, sis," I whisper, unable to smother my grin.

She punches my arm playfully. "Just be glad that I like you," she chirps so high and fast that the wind nearly carries her words into the cloud-swathed sky. "Now get going." She makes a shooing motion with her hands. "I've got things to do, too, you know." _There's a herd of black-tail grazing a few miles to the southeast, and if you hurry, you'll also catch the mountain lion stalking them._ Smiling angelically, Alice jumps to grab hold of a low-hanging branch and then scrambles into the tree, making herself comfortable on a wider section just below the bedroom window.

I wave at her and race for the tree line, feeling somehow lighter now that I can be certain of Bella's safety while I am gone. Yet just before the undulating boughs and the pull of instinct consumes my senses, I catch a last wisp of thought from Alice, tinted with apprehension. _I hate being the bearer of bad news…but I have a hunch that this thing with Bella and the mutt is far from over._

Little did I know that those words would turn out to be a portent of things to come.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Portions of the dialogue are cited directly from _Eclipse_ copyright ©2007 by Stephenie Meyer, pages 42-64.

Writing this chapter was like looking at an iceberg. At first I thought it would be relatively straightforward, but then I found all of this other material lingering just below the surface, waiting to be explored. For example, the scene with Bella and Edward cooking dinner, and all of the interaction that took place at the Cullen house.

And for those of you who have read my _Breaking Dawn_ story _"Metamorphosis",_ I'm sure you caught my reference to the chess game that takes place in Chapter 8. I have a love of continuity – and foreshadow. ;-)

In the next chapter, I think we'll delve into the mystery of what might have taken place in Florida on Edward and Bella's weekend getaway to visit her mom. It should be fun. And thank you to everyone who sends a review! I promise that I'll try to reply to each one as soon as I can. For those of you who just want to read, I love you all, too. Just remember: if you feel compelled to type a few words regarding the chapter, don't fight it. I would appreciate hearing from you, even if it's to tell me off for the long wait between updates.


	5. Arrangements

**Chapter Notes:** This update is getting posted a lot later than I had originally intended, and I'm sorry to have kept everyone waiting, but life in general has been super-stressful these past few weeks. I_ think _– and part of me doesn't want to say it aloud because I might jinx myself – that things are starting to slow down, so I should be able to manage my time in writing this story a little better. Cross your fingers.

Anyway, I know I said at the end of the last chapter that we'd be going to Florida next, but there were so many arrangements that needed to be made beforehand that this entire chapter was spawned to take care of them all. Hence, the title. But don't worry, Florida is coming…and I'm_ really_ excited to write about what might have happened there.

I also want to apologize for any inconsistencies in this chapter. I did a ton of research on several factors, but I'm only human, so something might be off. If you come across anything that makes you scratch your head, let me know in a review and we'll see if we can clear things up. Thank you!

And now…enjoy.

* * *

Warmth infuses my stone body all the way to the tips of my fingers as I lay the last corpse into the small ditch made by the tree I had just uprooted. Six deer and one very aggressive mountain lion disappear into the ground beneath the replanted cedar, and I brush the dirt off my hands, feeling unusually full. I have not glutted myself on this much blood in weeks due to my intense reluctance to leave Bella for more than a few hours, and those quick hunts typically involve two or three deer at most, although I did manage to cope on even less when the nightmares had held me captive to her side.

The nocturnal activity of the forest calls to the predator in me, yet instead of indulging my thirst any further I burst forward into an unreserved sprint, the wind singing in my ears as the trees blur into one another in a wash of purple and blue-black. Scenting the air, I turn to follow a familiar path laced with traces of my siblings' light aromas and soon leap across the river behind our home, my steps slowing as snatches of thought and conversation fills my mind.

"– understand why he's taking her to _Florida, _of all places." _I know he's an idiot, but this is ridiculous. _"Besides, she'd be perfectly safe here with some of us while the others deal with Victoria."

"Rose is right; they don't have to leave. We should do this together." _He has to want a piece of her for going after Bella in the first place. I know I would._

"You know how he is – overreacting is the only way he can deal with the extreme emotions that Bella brings out of him." _After spending ninety years as a recluse, unaware of what he was capable of feeling for another, he now has to work twice as hard to balance impulse versus logic._ "His first priority is her safety, and removing her from Forks is the most efficient, if a bit excessive, means of doing so."

Treading soundlessly into the house, I linger just out of sight behind the corner wall separating the dining room from the hallway while Carlisle responds to Jasper's observation. "Be that as it may, Edward is counting on us to handle the matter in their absence and all of us are committed to protecting this family."

The unspoken agreement that Bella is now a part of our family is, for the first time, unanimous.

"Alice has narrowed down Victoria's arrival to Saturday, after sunset, so we should –"

_Oh!_ Esme's soft gasp stills everyone in the room. Incredibly, she somehow senses my presence, for she looks toward the doorway with expectant topaz eyes and murmurs, "Edward?"

I circle around the corner, hands stuffed in my pockets, and grin faintly at Esme. "How did you know?" I ask, amused yet curious.

She beams at me and replies in a matter-of-fact tone, "A mother's intuition."

Her soft touch graces the top of my shoulder as I pass her and cross the floor to lean against the night-darkened window wall, folding my arms loosely over my chest.

Carlisle picks up where he left off, stating, "So we should take shifts watching the southeast perimeter of the forest, since Alice's vision indicates that Victoria will approach from that direction."

_I don't think it's wise to limit ourselves to one entry point._ Jasper shakes his head, and then says aloud, "But if she catches our scents she may cut around us and try to get into town another way." Glancing over at Emmett, he asks with grim interest, "Did you find anything when you scouted out the area to the south?"

My brows arch in surprise. I had not known that my brothers were already coordinating a defensive strategy in my absence, though I should have anticipated it. Once Alice relayed to the family what she had seen, Jasper's military brain would have immediately begun plotting to how best entrap the nomad when she arrives – and Emmett is always game for making himself useful in the protection of those he cares for, so he must have volunteered to do a little recon while he and Rose were out hunting.

A scowl twists Emmett's usually open expression. "A whole lot of nothing," he answers Jasper in frustration. "Just trees and rocks – you know, the usual. We went a little farther towards the coast" – his scowl deepens with obvious disgust – "but then the damn dogs started following our every move until we turned back to head home." His mind flashes with a memory of two pairs of yellow-green eyes winking beyond the invisible boundary line drawn through the woods as he and Rosalie took note of any unusual spots in the terrain that might help to pin down exactly where Victoria will come from on Saturday.

Rose sniffs, her upper lip curling ever so slightly in disdain. "The smell is even more foul up close."

Meanwhile, my father's thoughts are swirling with apprehension. _I hadn't considered factoring in the wolves, _he murmurs inwardly. "Should Victoria manage to elude us and head west," he comments in a tense voice, his gaze flicking from me to Jasper and back again, "what will happen if she steps onto Quileute lands?" _We cannot follow her without violating the treaty, although young Jacob Black has infringed upon many of its terms in recent months._

I stave off an irritated growl. It seems that I cannot escape the mention of the mutt's name even among my own family. But Carlisle does have a valid point. In a cool tone, I answer, "Then perhaps the dogs can make themselves useful."

Once the words are out of my mouth, a sudden thought occurs and I look aside, frowning in speculation. While the ultimate goal of Victoria's destruction would be achieved if the pack is forced into action, I will not be satisfied that the nomad will not pose a threat to my Bella ever again until I see her broken, smoldering remains with my own eyes, or at least through the eyes of my family. "But we would have to make certain," I continue quietly, "that if the pack fails, we have to finish the job."

Jasper's forehead crinkles in deliberation. "Then we'll have to redouble our efforts to include the southern part of the forest, as well," he says after a moment.

"Wonderful." Rosalie tosses her blonde hair with a resentful sneer, complaining, "Now I'll have to put up with the stench of those flea-bitten mutts for the next two days." _It's bad enough that the entire house reeks of_ food_ every time Bella is here and Esme insists on cooking for her…_

Blocking out my sister's selfish grumbles with well-practiced ease, I head towards the staircase and take the steps three at a time to the third floor, entering the safe haven of my room while the others discuss details.

A tan-colored leather travel bag is lying open on top of the sofa and, peering inside, I notice that Alice has given me the option of selecting_ one_ outfit to pack for the trip to Florida. So after a quick shower and change, I put a pair of lightweight khakis along with a pale blue button-down that I know Bella is fond of in the bag and zip it closed, not concerned in the least by what my sister might have picked out. I have learned to trust her judgment on such things or risk her wrath – in which case one may find that all of their pants have been replaced with duplicates that are two sizes too small with hems about three inches shy of the ankle.

Then I reach for the small laptop situated on my desk and the screen glows to life as soon as I flip it open. My fingers tap with rapid efficiency over the keys as I log onto the airline website and enter the voucher numbers to book an afternoon flight from Sea-Tac to Jacksonville International Airport. Travel time is about five hours, and with the three-hour difference, we should arrive in the Sunshine State right around twilight, which will allow me to move about outdoors safely and not attract unwanted attention.

Once everything is in order, I slip the laptop in my bag as well and sling the thick strap over my shoulder, checking off items from the list in my head. I have a cover story already crafted that will explain why I won't be seen outside during the day, and I also want to ensure as much as I am able that Bella has an enjoyable, relaxing visit with her mother, blissfully unaware of the redheaded fiend seeking her death being anywhere near her home in Forks.

Jogging downstairs, I find everyone in the exact same positions as I had left them, though the conversation has dwindled off to less serious subjects. Emmett and Jasper are engaged in a commentary on an old black and white film about the Civil War in front of the new plasma television I had purchased to replace the one I destroyed the night Bella won her majority vote to fully join this family. Rosalie looks to be absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair around her finger but is truthfully cataloging all of the adjustments she would like to make to her M3 convertible in the near future in her thoughts, and Esme steps away from Carlisle to meet me beside the piano, determined to give me a proper farewell.

I fold her familiar shape in my arms, thankful yet again to God or fate or whatever power that brought this incredibly tender, loving woman into my father's life – and mine, as well – for I am convinced that not even my own mother could love me more. "Bye, Mom," I murmur softly. "And be careful." Pulling back a little, I turn my head to look at each of them. "All of you."

A nugget of guilt swells like a ball of ice in the pit of my stomach when I realize that I am once again leaving my family to deal with the repercussions of my actions, but the feeling disappears under a soothing blanket of comfort.

I glance sideways to meet Jasper's steady golden eyes.

He inclines his head a bit, reminding me in his thoughts, _Your first priority is Bella. Keep her safe, and we'll make sure that neither of you will have to worry about Victoria ever again._

Despite his assurance, I cannot help but think that I should put forth more effort in what will be happening here while avoiding the perpetual sunlight of Jacksonville. "I'll call often," I announce decisively, "to check on the status of things. Perhaps I can offer an informed opinion, if nothing else."

_Oh, please…_ Rose groans, _like you don't 'offer an opinion' enough already. _"I think we can manage without you," she retorts with biting sarcasm, holding out a hand to examine her immaculately polished nails.

"Rosalie," Esme chides, though her gaze is on me, and she smiles softly, the faintest dimples appearing near the corners of her mouth. "You shouldn't worry so much, Edward. Everything will be fine. Just enjoy this time with Bella." _Some time away together ought to do you both a world of good,_ she adds mentally, and her mind's eye brightens for an instant with the crystalline image of a pristine white sand beach framed by a vivid blue ocean – a memory from the island that Carlisle gave to her as a gift.

_It won't be the same as there,_ Esme clarifies, her eyes sparkling with good humor, _but I know you're a romantic at heart, like your father. You will find a way to create a special moment for Bella. And you'll be able to interact with Renée in a more relaxed environment, considering how the two of you first met. _She gives me a rather pointed look, and I concede with a nod. This meeting with the erratic, unconventional mother of the woman I love is bound to be easier than when we had exchanged hushed, preoccupied greetings in a Phoenix hospital room a year ago.

Walking towards the door, I stop and glance over my shoulder. Then I nod at my father, give my mother one last smile, and say to the room at large, "See you Sunday."

"Don't get sunburned!" Emmett calls out gleefully just as I cross the meadow behind the house on my way to the garage.

My bag gets thrown into the Volvo's trunk after I verify for the umpteenth time that I have everything I need, and in a matter of seconds I am driving down the winding road to the highway, eager to return to the slumbering angel in her too-small bed.

About a half mile from my destination, I pull off the rural pavement and follow the faint impressions of tire tracks into the outskirts of the forest, guiding the Volvo beneath the low-hanging branches of a cluster of silver pines, their dense needles able to conceal the car from passing motorists.

The top corner of the door knocks aside one of the branches, sending a shower of droplets onto my face and hair, but I pay it little heed while I stow the keys in the CD compartment and push the door closed with a muted click. The wet smell of damp earth mixes with the fresh aroma of rain-soaked foliage in my nostrils, but even at this distance, I can detect a whisper of freesia on the breeze.

I weave through the trees swiftly, running parallel to the road until the little white house appears beyond the undergrowth, seeming as silent as its neighbors. Yet from the upstairs bedroom window, the familiar thrum of a slow heartbeat echoes across the night, pulling me like a magnet up the nearby tree and inside, my eyes immediately locking on the sprawled out figure occupying the entire mattress.

Bella is lying on her stomach, one leg twisted in the sheets while the other hangs partially off the bed. An arm is buried under the pillow that she has her face pressed into – a tiny explosion of joy bursts like a firework in my brain when I realize that it is the pillow my head usually rests on – and the fingers of her other hand are curled around the folds of a soft throw that Alice must have placed over her after she had kicked off the blankets.

Speaking of Alice… I watch her remove something from Bella's closet and fold it neatly, placing it in a canvas bag that she unearthed from somewhere in this room. With her back to me, she thinks in a defensive tone, _I'm only helping. Don't have a hissy fit._

It never fails to amaze me how one little pixie of a vampire can drive me to the brink of aggravation with a minimal amount of effort. I pinch the bridge of my nose, holding tightly to the wrappings of self-control wound around my temper, and retort in a low whisper, "She won't like what you pack, Alice. And I seem to recall telling you_ explicitly_ just last week to please not force her to appreciate fashion as much as you." My lips vibrate with the quickness of my words, and I make a halfhearted swipe for the bag, but of course Alice sees it beforehand and moves it out of my reach, looking offended.

_I haven't forgotten. And you should know that I didn't put anything in there that Bella wouldn't pick for herself._ She finishes straightening the crease in a short-sleeved shirt and sets it atop the other clothes with a flourish.

A sudden frown darkens her expression and she heaves a sigh, an image of Bella pawing through the contents of the bag sometime before school swimming into view in her mind. _Neither of you trusts me,_ she bemoans dramatically,_ though I'm trying to do you both a favor._ "She wouldn't be ready by the time you get here to take her to school," her high-pitched voice mingles with the crickets singing in the forest, "and I refuse to be treated as a bargaining chip." She huffs a bit, indignant, and glares at me with a single brow arched in expectation, waiting for what she knows is coming.

I rake a hand through my hair, my shoulders sagging as I let out a breath. "I'm sorry." Her jewel-tone eyes soften at the apology, but her thoughts remain eerily silent. Tentatively, I lift one side of my mouth into a rueful smile. "Would it help if I promised not to intervene the next time you buy something for Bella to wear?" I will myself to mean it, focusing on my sense of confidence in Bella's stubborn mindset to keep her from surrendering to my sister's pleas and compromising her practical streak just for the sake of dressing in an outfit that costs more than that pathetic excuse for a truck parked outside.

A slow smile lights up Alice's face, though she attempts to seem nonchalant as she replies, "Maybe." Her teeth gleam faintly in the dim light when her smile widens victoriously. _"Did_ you just promise not to intervene the next time I buy something for my sister?" _I know you did._ She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, the chipped floorboard under her right toe creaking as she shifts her weight.

"Yes," I hiss, throwing a worried glance at Bella, but she merely nuzzles her cheek further into the pillow, mouthing something unintelligible.

Alice crows in triumph inside her head. _By the by –_ her thoughts turn abruptly to the vision she'd had yesterday of Bella and I amidst palm trees – _there's going to be a thunderstorm shortly before your plane's due to land, so the sky will still be clearing when you arrive._

Tendrils of silken mahogany hair tickle Bella's temple and trace the curve of her neck, capturing my attention as I mumble vaguely, "Thanks, Alice." With a fingertip, I gently smooth the strands away from her creamy skin.

_That's my cue._ Nimbly, Alice slips out the open window and drops to the ground with graceful ease. After she reminds me to expect her at the car when I return to collect it from its hiding place, her mind fades from my perception at the same time that she disappears into the trees, leaving me to find a few more moments of peace with my Bella.

I carefully rearrange the blankets, swathing her in warmth to protect her from my icy flesh, and then I stretch out beside her on top of the quilt, my face inches from hers so that the heat of her breath swirls across my lips. However, the pillow obscures most of her features, and I find myself wishing that she would roll onto her side.

Unconsciously, I twine an arm around her waist, tugging ever so slightly, and she turns, compounding my delight as she murmurs my name. The fingers that had once clutched the blanket grasp my shirt in almost the exact same manner, and despite the layers of fabric separating our bodies, she manages to wriggle close enough to nestle her head into the space between my neck and shoulder.

I bury my nose in her tousled hair, breathing in deeply. The coiled tension within my muscles starts to ebb as her scent fills my lungs and the balmy temperature of her vibrantly alive form seeps into my granite skin, my eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

In all likelihood, I will have to release her from my embrace before she awakens, but as dawn colors the horizon outside her window with shades of lavender and then a muted hint of gold, she does not stir once. I monitor every infinitesimal reaction of her body, waiting for the inevitable shiver due to my cool touch or the uncomfortable twitch because of the hardness of my frame… though she surprises me once again by continuing to sleep more calmly than I can recall in recent weeks.

Reluctant to wake her, I watch the filtered sunlight gradually lighten the tiny room, creating weak shadows on the floor and walls and glittering on the corners of the picture frames she arranged atop the dresser. Mere minutes remain until her alarm clock is set to go off, so I glance down at the crown of her dark head with regret and then brush the back of my hand along her cheek, following the line of her jaw to the gently throbbing pulse in her throat. "Bella, love…wake up."

She shivers, and makes a humming sound that does not seem particularly encouraging.

A smile shapes my mouth while I move my hand along her collarbone to her shoulder. There I pause for a few seconds, battling with a surge of uncertainty and a powerful desire to resume what I had intended to do next in my attempt to rouse her.

Bella decides for me when her soft exhale warms the side of my neck, producing an electric tremor that jitters down my spine, and my hand slides over the curve of her shoulder to her ribs, each millimeter of progress igniting my nerves like live wires.

Her startled gasp causes me to freeze for an instant, but then her heartbeat launches into its customary hyperactive rhythm and I sense that I am allowed to continue, although my brain is screaming at me to stop this insanity.

The gentle arc above her hip entices me forward, and my palm fits into place as though it was meant to rest there. Bella's chest rises and falls against my own in shallow breaths. I swallow hard, fighting the impulse to tighten my hold and pull her warm body on top of mine – deliberately initiating the charged position we had found ourselves in just the other morning.

Before I have completely mastered the dangerous urge, she slowly lifts her head, her endless brown eyes swirling with wonder, elation, and hope. An obvious question also resides in her deep gaze, for which I am unprepared – or afraid – to answer. Instead, I offer her a shaky grin, vainly trying to ignore the temptingly soft heat beneath my hand, and murmur, "Good morning."

She automatically returns the greeting, her tone husky from sleep and emotion, and I lose any hope of resistance as her eyes drift to my lips. As cautious as she was the first time she dared to willingly enter the circle of my arms, Bella leans in for the lightest kiss. It quickly morphs into the restrained passion we have been practicing for some time now, though the new location of my grip on her fragile figure and the way she combs her fingertips through my hair is severely testing all vestiges of self-control that I possess.

My desire whispers silkily in the back of my skull of how effortless it would be to shift her feather-light weight, to press her into my chest so that her heart echoes in my silent ribcage and her warmth soaks into my stone body, to mold myself around her to make a single, whole entity…

_Too dangerous!_ my mind shrieks. The analogy I had constructed shortly after I gave in to the idea of pursuing a relationship with Bella flickers to life in my head, warning me once again that she is as delicate as silk stretched over glass, and it will only take a fraction of a second if I am not in absolute control of my strength to break her. If I were to seriously consider the possibility of…consummation, there is no doubt in my mind as to what would happen. One moment of inattention, and she would shatter. I would kill her.

I break away from her slowly, cupping her face in my palms as I work to contain the self-loathing churning like acid in my bones, and by the time her eyes blink open, I have a tender, apologetic expression firmly in place. "We've tempted fate enough for one morning, love. You need to get ready for school."

A rebellious fire flares in her dark irises, but it is soon tempered by acceptance. "Okay," she mumbles, still a bit breathless, and slips her fingers out of my hair. Then she rolls away and hops out of the bed, walking directly to the door to head across the hall for her human moment.

With her hand on the knob, she hesitates, and keeping her back to me, she says quietly, "But for the record, I think I'd like to wake up that way every morning." And with a flurry of motion, she exits, pulling the door shut behind her, her feet beating a rapid tempo to the bathroom.

Sitting up, I bend my legs and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I push both hands through my hair, willing myself to stay focused. It was rash and idiotic of me to let things lapse so far into the near chaos that I actually compelled me to entertain the notion of – _Stop it, Edward._ I tug violently at the strands woven through my fingers to banish the thought. It is impossible; I cannot permit myself to dwell on it any longer.

Charlie snuffles as the sound of running water coaxes him awake, and I lower my hands, wry humor filling me as I reflect on the irony of our situation. He had confronted his daughter last night with the dreaded 'sex talk', believing that we had already taken that significant step in our relationship despite the fact that he clung to the dim hope – a hope that has since proven true – that Bella is more responsible than her parents had been in high school.

So I find myself wondering how Renée will perceive our connection with one another. Will she view it as a teenage fling, or will she notice something deeper? Will she just assume that her normally levelheaded daughter gave in to the pleas of her typical hormone-driven boyfriend?

It matters not if I receive the blame for potentially ruining Bella's chances at a college education, but I care very much if anything said or done this weekend shames or hurts her in any way.

Suddenly, it becomes gravely important that I convince at least one of Bella's parents that I love her more than my own life and will strive for the rest of eternity to make her happy and be worthy of her love.

"What is _that?"_

I jerk a little in surprise. I had been so absorbed in my musings that I did not hear Bella return to her bedroom. Looking up, I see her standing at the foot of the bed, cheeks flushed and her index finger jabbed at the nearly full canvas bag sitting in the rocking chair.

"Alice couldn't resist when she saw we were going on a trip," I reply, spreading my arms in a helpless gesture. "But she did assure me that you wouldn't have been ready on time if she hadn't stepped in."

I climb off the bed as she growls under her breath about meddling fortunetellers and stand in front of her, reflexively taking her small, warm hands in my own. "Our flight out of Sea-Tac is scheduled for 4:15," I inform her in a low voice, "so make sure that Charlie knows we'll be leaving right after school."

She promptly clamps down on her bottom lip, her eyebrows pulling together worriedly even as she nods in agreement. "When will we get back?" she asks.

"Sunday night." My thumbs sweep over the soft ridges of her knuckles. "You'll call him after we land." I bend down and she tilts her chin at the same time, meeting me in the middle for a brief kiss.

Afterward, I deliver the well-known promise to be back in a half hour and disappear out the window, lingering in the tree line across the street several minutes longer than usual before Alice calls to tell me in a patronizing tone, "She's going to be _fine,_ Edward – you don't have to hover around her waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now come on back to the car. I'm getting lonely sitting here all by myself." She hangs up before I can get a word in edgewise.

Rolling my eyes, I settle against the trunk of a nearby tree and listen to the sounds of activity coming from the house. Despite the relative dependability of my sister's visions, there is always an off chance of a spontaneous decision altering the course of the future and I will not risk leaving Bella unprotected for even a handful of moments. Alice will see, if she hasn't already, that I am remaining here and can drive the Volvo down the street at the appropriate time.

I smirk faintly. I can almost hear her annoyed huff when she receives _that _particular vision.

Bella's light footsteps skip down the stairs, and I watch through the kitchen window as she bustles about, turning on the coffee maker for Charlie and pouring herself a glass of juice.

Her father trudges into view a few minutes later, and she hands him a steaming mug as soon as he sits down at the table. "Thanks, Bells," he mumbles groggily. Taking a sip of his coffee, he sighs with what could be interpreted as relief and then glances around the room, wondering aloud, "Where's today's paper?"

"Right here." Bella pulls the folded newsprint off the counter behind him and places it in front of him. While he begins reading a front-page article that continues its coverage of the murders in Seattle, she opens a cupboard to withdraw a package of her favorite breakfast food and keeps her back to him as she says, "Hey, Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Edward got us a flight to Jacksonville that's leaving Seattle at 4:15 this afternoon," she blurts out in one quick burst.

As soon as she said my name, Charlie stiffened, but he holds the paper open in front of his face while he replies in a monotone, "Does your mother know?"

Her eyes widen in alarm. "I…" Then a bright gleam of inspiration lights up her features and she answers, "I'm going to call her once we're at the airport. I kind of want it to be a surprise." Her fingertips pluck at the corner of the Pop Tart in her hand as she chews on her lower lip.

He grunts, which Bella seems to take as an affirmation. She turns around, her curtain of mahogany hair twisting delicately to the small of her back, and the two of them linger in silence until Bella tentatively informs him, "We'll get back on Sunday night. Not too late," she adds in haste. "I'll call you after we land."

The newspaper rustles as he flips to the next page. "All right." His voice is the same bland pitch as before, and Bella's shoulders hunch a little, signaling the wince that must be distorting her expression.

I am on the verge of deciding to march up to the front door regardless of the consequences and help her face Charlie's seeming indifference when those shoulders suddenly tighten and she stands up straight, her heartbeat jumping into a faster rhythm. "I'm really sorry about this, Dad," she begins sincerely. "And I'm sorry for the things I said last night." Then her voice hardens, filling with a steely resolve that is as astonishing as it is beautiful. "But I_ am_ going to see Mom this weekend, and Edward_ is_ going with me. He and I are a package deal, remember? It's time you learned to accept that."

She exits the kitchen in a direct manner that is neither angry nor aloof, and both Charlie and I stare after her – he in amazement and a hint of remorse, and I with fierce pride and adoration.

A moment later, like turning up the dial on a radio, a familiar mental voice rises inside my head. _…don't understand why he can't leave her be for thirty minutes…although it's been a while since I've driven his car, and Rose did a good job with the tune-up… I wish he would just buy me my Porsche already; I've been waiting all this time…_

Skirting along the tree line, I follow the constant stream of her thoughts and the purr of the Volvo's engine to the next block over from Charlie's house. Alice spots me as I push through the underbrush and sticks out her tongue. _Your chauffeur has arrived,_ she thinks derisively and climbs out, the warning noise beeping incessantly as she leaves the door open and sits in the back seat.

I squelch my grin and slip behind the wheel, relieved when the obnoxious beeping ceases the instant I close the door. Then I shift sideways to peer at Alice. She is glaring obstinately out the far window, avoiding eye contact, though I know her well enough to realize that her sour mood will not last long.

Hoping to shorten that time even further, I say softly, "Thank you, Alice." She will understand that my gratitude extends far beyond the simple gesture of bringing my car here, and her stern expression immediately gentles as she looks at me from the corner of her eye.

_Go pick up your Bella. We don't want to be late for school._ A smile twitches in her cheek.

The Volvo coasts into the Swan driveway in seconds, and I glimpse Bella's smiling face as she glances out her bedroom window and then disappears. In the kitchen, Charlie is still engrossed in the paper. He pretends not to notice when his daughter breezes through, tugging on her jacket. She stops beside his chair, commenting, "So, I'll be home on Sunday. Okay?"

He grunts again. Bella lets out a deep breath, and then leans down to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Dad," she murmurs quietly, once again cracking the toughened shell he has built around his heart for the last eighteen years.

But he still waits until she opens the front door to say in a low voice, "I love you, too, kid."

I lean across to tug on the door handle, pushing it open for her as she walks towards the car, and she tumbles inside in a cloud of warm sweetness, the tender smile on her full lips reminding me of how she had stood up for us to her father. "Hi," she breathes, her brown eyes aglow.

Reaching for her hand, I shift the car into reverse and back out of the driveway, all without looking away from her captivating gaze. "How did it go with Charlie?" I inquire gently. In all likelihood she will give me a vague response, not wanting to burden me with guilt or remorse for coming between her and her father, but I will continue to ask every time. It is my wish that one day Bella will be comfortable enough to share_ all_ of her feelings, good and bad, with me.

Predictably, she shrugs, dropping her eyes to our clasped hands. "It went better than last night."

I tighten my fingers around hers ever so slightly while suppressing a brief flicker of disappointment. Today is obviously not the day that Bella sets aside her selflessness and unleashes the full brunt of her thoughts and feelings upon me, but I still want her to understand that whenever she decides to do so, I will welcome the onslaught with open arms.

To change the subject, I remark lightly, "We'll have a few minutes to stop back at the house before we drive down to Seattle, since I see that you neglected to bring your bag." A crooked grin punctuates the end of my sentence as she blinks at me, taken aback.

The startled look quickly fades, becoming a thoughtful expression that inadvertently commands my attention, given that her lips are pursed, and then she says, "Okay, so, I should have a little time to make Charlie something to heat up for dinner."

Always seeing to the needs of others. "Of course," I agree softly, marveling once again at her generous spirit. If only she would extend that same generosity to those who want to give to her rather than just receive all that she offers so freely.

We pull into the parking lot at school, and our classes blur into one another as teachers deliver the usual assortment of reminders to study for final exams and speeches about finishing up the year in a positive manner.

Having heard the like for more decades than I care to remember, I focus on the object of my favorite pastime and watch her doodle absently in her notebook. The toe of her sneaker is tapping against a leg of our table, sending tiny vibrations across its surface, and I notice that she is glancing up at the clock with increasing frequency – an action that has repeated itself on and off throughout the day.

Also in combination with her apparent restlessness, the sheet of paper in front of her is decorated with starbursts and thick scribbles instead of the loops within loops that I am accustomed to seeing.

Her pulse skyrockets the instant that the final bell rings, and I catch a glimpse of an unguarded smile on her face before she composes her features, yet her dark eyes continue to dance as I walk beside her towards the outside doors.

As she brushes past me while I hold the door, I bend down to whisper teasingly in her ear, "Excited, love?"

The heat of her blush warms the damp air that swirls around us and I chuckle out of sheer enjoyment, reveling in the fact that I can cause a rosy glow to bloom on her skin with minimal effort, as well as in celebration that Bella seems eager to begin our weekend jaunt.

Suddenly she veers to the right, jogging a little to catch up to a pair ahead of us while she calls out, "Angela! Ben!"

Her friends turn around, curious, and before I can join them, Alice ghosts to my side. Her expression is calm, but her tawny eyes mirror the knots of anxiety and misgiving in her thoughts.

"What is it?" I ask her, worried.

Meanwhile, Bella is apologizing to Angela and Ben for having to cancel their plans for this weekend. "It's really last-minute, but I'm going to Jacksonville to see my mom. And Edward is coming with me." She beams at Angela with undisguised delight, and the beauty of that smile loosens the icy tension in my muscles just enough to keep me from lapsing into the unnatural stillness of my kind.

Alice shakes her head as though she is ridding herself of something unpleasant and then replies in a swift murmur, "It's fine, Edward. See?" She opens her mind, replaying the flashes she gathered during the day. "Everything is still on schedule." _But there are these holes that just won't go away._ Her frustration is keen as she shows me the unusual breaks in her visions.

Could the holes be contributed to the wolves? "You have to promise me that you'll call if anything changes," I urge. "Especially if the pack becomes involved. Their interference could make you lose track of her altogether." I refuse to speak that creature's name when Bella is smiling and talking with friends less than ten feet away.

_Don't I know it,_ my sister thinks darkly. Then she rolls her eyes and chides aloud, "You really shouldn't worry so much – it'll give you wrinkles." Her gaze drifts sideways, and a gentle smile momentarily chases the shadows from her expression. "Take Esme's advice, Edward, and just enjoy this time with Bella."

Looking back at me, she sends a fleeting image of Bella and I walking hand-in-hand along the shore, the scene painted with the muted tones of dusk.

It swirls out of view like smoke in a glass jar an instant later, and Alice growls low in her throat, the sound positively menacing. _Stop hinging the entire weekend on what happens here!_ she yells mentally, and I lean backwards a bit, stunned by her vehemence_. You can't claim single-handed responsibility for everything that affects Bella; it's not only_ your_ choices that brought all of us to this moment._ Bright gold sparks of intense emotion crackle within her piercing glare. _Whether you're ready to accept it or not, she is going to become a part of our family in every possible way, so you better start learning to trust others with her care. And that includes Bella herself._

I make the connection between her words and the meaning behind them immediately. "You think that I should_ tell_ her?" I force out the question through gritted teeth to keep from shouting, disbelieving that my favorite sister can be so unsympathetic to her best friend's emotional wellbeing.

Alice releases a hard sigh, her eyebrows forming a single black line across her forehead. _It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is how Bella is going to feel when she finds out that you lied to her about visiting Renée in Florida. _Despite the severe frown twisting her mouth, Alice's gaze is sad as she adds in the barest whisper, "The end doesn't justify the means."

A tremor wracks my indestructible frame when the face of the Bella she had come back to after six months – the Bella I had broken – enters her mind, and once again the sallow cheeks, the bruise-like shadows around dulled brown eyes and the frantic pleas to not be left alone slice through my chest like a thousand knives.

The pain is earned, and I receive it as penance for my blasphemy, but I cannot fully mask the wince that distorts my features for a split second.

That fraction of time is enough for Alice to recognize my agony and banish the memory from her thoughts, her small hand touching my shoulder hesitantly. _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…_ She exhales slowly, her ocher eyes begging for forgiveness_. Bella is your mate, and I know you only want to protect her. There's nothing wrong with that. Why frighten her when she's not in any danger?_

The rhetorical question echoes oddly within my head even as Alice lowers her hand and glances to the side. _Incoming,_ she warns, while the pulsing heartbeat of my whole world grows louder, drowning out all other sound.

With Bella beside me, I can extinguish the haunting reminders of my greatest mistake and look down at her with a faint smirk. Her excitement has become a tangible thing in the last few minutes, and I realize that my sister's final statement is correct. Why should I scare Bella needlessly about what will happen here this weekend when she will be safe with me on the opposite side of the country?

As they walk towards Angela's car, she waves at us while Ben wraps an arm around her waist. "Have a nice weekend!" she calls, grinning. _They must be really serious if Edward's going to Florida to meet her mom,_ the genuinely kind girl thinks. _I mean, they were_ always_ serious – but since the Cullens came back the two of them are more inseparable than ever. _She peers over a shoulder just as I bend down to kiss the top of Bella's head and her eyelids flutter briefly, a tiny smile curving her lips. Angela nods to herself, turning back around. _Seeing them together, I can believe that there is such a thing as soul mates._

Soul mates… If ever I can truly have faith in the existence of my soul, as Bella does, I would consider myself incredibly blessed to be paired with her pure, selfless light.

"Don't you two have a plane to catch?" Alice points out in her usual chipper voice, interrupting my philosophical thinking. She is already standing next to the Volvo, hands on her hips, an eyebrow quirked in expectation.

Fitting my palm against the small of Bella's back – her pulse stutters in response – I usher her towards the car, confident that we have plenty of time to reach Seattle, so long as Bella allows me to drive at the speed I am accustomed to.

Minutes later, we are parked in the driveway of Charlie's house. The three of us climb out of the Volvo, and Alice gives us a cheery wave. "Have fun," she says with a bright smile. "And Bella, be sure to leave that new top in your bag. Trust me." She winks, her mind scrubbed clean of anything relating to this mysterious article of clothing, which only strengthens my intense curiosity when Bella flushes a delicate pink.

In a blur of black and white, Alice scampers into the forest, sending mentally, _I'll talk to you tonight when you call after everyone's asleep. Remember what I said, Edward._

_Which part?_ I want to call after her, but I doubt it would do any good. Despite her claims to the contrary, my sister often plays the role of Oracle – speaking in riddles and half-voiced predictions so that I can learn something valuable instead of cultivating my so-called god complex through knowing the future and reading minds.

I wonder if she will ever pursue a career in psychiatry…which would be deeply ironic, considering her origins.

Behind me, Bella lets herself in the house and I follow in her wake, but as she veers off towards the kitchen I head for the staircase to collect her bag from her bedroom.

The canvas duffel is waiting atop the mattress along with a small carry-on, and I hesitate for a fraction of a second, entertaining the idea of peeking at the contents and satisfying the interest that my sister stirred within me regarding Bella's wardrobe. However, I firmly tell myself to not invade her privacy and grab both bags in one hand, focusing on the steady beat of her heart as I come back downstairs.

A sizable cold-cuts sandwich is being wrapped in plastic when I duck my head into the kitchen. Bella glances sideways as she sets the covered plate in the refrigerator beside a can of Charlie's favorite beer and says, "I'm almost done." She brushes breadcrumbs off of her hands and then reaches for the pad of paper on the counter, scribbling a quick note to her father, which she sticks on the fridge with a magnet. "Okay," she mutters, looking around one last time as though making sure that nothing is out of place, "let's go."

Light rain mists our faces and hair as I set the bags in the trunk and Bella locks up the house, and soon we are cruising down a rural highway to get to the interstate.

Just before I drive up the on-ramp, I turn to her, beseeching with my eyes. "Bella, love…" I murmur softly, nodding first at the clock on the dashboard and then towards the speeding cars ahead.

She heaves a sigh, pushing her head back against the seat. "All right, fine. But only because we're in a hurry." Her eyelids scrunch closed, which thankfully blocks out my enthusiastic grin, and she crosses her arms tight over her stomach as the low purr of the engine accelerates into a strong hum.

Hoping to relieve some of her unnecessary tension, I slip a CD that she is fond of into the slot and adjust the volume, pleased when the familiar strains of melody appear to soothe her almost instantly. The nervous creases around her eyes and mouth relax while her body settles more comfortably into the seat, and her head lolls a bit to one side, angling her face in perfect profile towards me.

I watch the watery, late afternoon light play across her delicate features as the Volvo weaves in and out of traffic, and a few tendrils of mahogany hair escape from behind Bella's ear, spoiling my unobstructed view. I so badly want to brush them aside, to feel the warm satin of her cheek…but I am certain that she will not react kindly if I do not keep both hands on the wheel. So I distract myself by monitoring the rush of thoughts coming from fellow commuters, outdistancing most of them in a matter of minutes.

The low clouds hide some of the taller buildings of downtown Seattle as we journey to the airport, and my fingers flex restlessly on the steering wheel at the realization that I have brought my Bella dangerously close to the epicenter of a newborn vampire's hunting ground.

Striving for calm, I release a slow breath. Mere hours from now, we will be safely ensconced at Renée's home in Jacksonville, thousands of miles from any potential threats. I cannot afford to have Bella pick up on my apprehensive mood now.

After locating a suitable parking garage, we soon find ourselves inside the main terminal. The last time both of us were here, Bella was barely awake and emotionally spent, and I was one of the walking wounded, holding onto her as though she might evaporate from my arms whenever I blinked.

From the way Bella fidgets with the strap of her carry-on and drops her eyes to the floor, I would guess that she is remembering as well.

Gently, I enfold her small hand in mine, threading our fingers together, and begin to walk towards the appropriate counter. She clutches my palm like a lifeline, but throws her head up high, determined to overcome the shadows of the past.

I stroke the tender flesh of her wrist with my thumb, adoring her as always for her bravery, and her pulse flutters underneath my touch.

Our tickets are reserved under Cullen, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter automatically zeros in on Bella's left ring finger, though she reminds herself a beat later that the social outlook on marriage has changed over the years when there is no sparkle of a diamond on Bella's hand. To my relief, she does not address the issue, but instead wishes us a pleasant trip, beaming an officious smile.

We still have a few moments before boarding, so I find a cluster of chairs in a less crowded area and sit down while Bella fumbles one-handed with the zipper of her bag and rummages around inside. "I should call my mom," she tells me, pulling out her cell phone.

Pressing it to her ear, the line rings nearly four times before Renée's slightly breathless voice answers, "Hello? Bella, honey, is that you?"

I stifle a chuckle as Bella rolls her eyes, a faint smile curving her lips. "Hi, Mom."

"Oh, I'm so glad you called! I was trying to remember…" A clattering noise echoes in the background, followed by a muffled oath, and then Renée asks almost sheepishly, "Could you tell me which cleaner to use on a ceramic tile floor? Phil tracked in a_ ton_ of dust from the baseball field and it looks just awful." Abruptly, she inserts in a cheery tone, "Did I tell you that the high school team he coaches is in the playoffs? He's so proud of those boys."

"Yes, you did. And you can use an ammonia-free cleaner on the floor, but sweep up as much as you can first," Bella rattles off patiently.

"I know that, honey." Renée's voice is loving and indulgent, like it amuses her that her daughter knows more about domestic living than she does. "So do you have any big plans for this weekend? Is Edward taking you to the prom?"

A low laugh escapes my mouth. Bella nudges my shoulder with hers – I rock away from the feather-light touch so she doesn't injure herself – and then she retorts into the phone, "He took me to prom _last year,_ Mom, remember? And I really didn't want to go through all that again. Besides, we've got other plans." She glances over at me, chocolate eyes glittering with excitement. "We'll be in Jacksonville this weekend," she announces happily.

Renée gasps. "Are you serious?" she says slowly, disbelieving. "Isabella Swan, if you are teasing your poor mother…"

"I'm serious, Mom," Bella laughs. "We're at the airport in Seattle right now."

Squealing like a hyperactive teenager, Renée celebrates loudly on the other end of the connection. "Bella! Oh, Bella, this is so wonderful! I can't wait to show you the house – I've got to finish cleaning! And we can walk down to the beach" – her words are flowing so quickly that I wonder how she has enough air to keep talking – "and there's this fantastic boardwalk where we can go shopping and have some lunch. Phil's going to be working with his team so it'll be just you and me, like old times! We'll have so much fun –"

"Mom, wait." Bella interrupts the never-ending tangent, her fingers suddenly squeezing my hand so tightly that her knuckles are turning white, and her leg starts jittering up and down nervously. "I'm not coming alone." A quick breath, and then she says in a rush, "Edward's with me."

Silence. I place my free hand firmly on Bella's knee to stop its frantic movement. "Oh," Renée replies after a couple of tense seconds. "Well… well, that's great! We'll be happy to have him visit us, too. He can sleep in the guest room, and you know Phil has been wanting to meet him."

I tilt my head a bit to the side, stunned that she accepted my presence so easily, and that the enthusiasm in her tone seems genuine. Bella smirks at my expression and mouths, "See?" And in a completely unexpected move, she raises our tangled hands to her lips and kisses the back of mine.

My skin continues to burn long after she withdraws, a deep blush blooming on her face, and I swallow hard, tiny jolts of electricity traveling up my arm and spreading throughout my stone body.

"What time does your flight get in?" Renée's eager question breaks into the unbearable tension surrounding us like a bubble.

"Um…" Bella lowers her gaze, her heart beating double-time as she stutters, "Around 7:15, I think."

"I'll be there to pick you up as soon as you land," her mother announces decisively. "You just call me and I'll swing the car around. Okay, honey?" Without waiting for an affirmative reply, Renée exclaims again, "I can't believe you're coming to visit, finally! I've got so much to do before you two get here – I'll see you soon, Bella, all right? Bye!" And then she hangs up.

Letting out a soft noise that is half laugh, half sigh, Bella murmurs, "Bye, Mom," and closes the phone. Then she peers up at me, smiling faintly, but her eyes seem apologetic. "She'll be late," she informs me in a matter-of-fact tone, "but she'll get there at some point. I hope you're not in a hurry." Her grin tips to one side teasingly.

I lift her small hand, entwined with my own, and copy her earlier sentiment by brushing my lips over her knuckles. "Not at all," I reply against her warm skin, watching as her face reddens with fresh color while I stare at her through my lashes.

At that moment, the announcement that our flight is now boarding rings out across the loudspeaker, and I stand up fluidly, pulling Bella with me. "Shall we?" I release her hand, only to tuck it through the crook of my arm.

She nods, that entrancing glow of happiness lighting up her features, and I realize that she is going to be more of a distraction than ever at this rate. I can scarcely drag my eyes away from her as we walk down the hallway leading towards the plane and I hand our tickets to the smiling flight attendant.

"Thank you, sir." She eyes us for a second, speculating on our relationship. _Both young, but obviously in love. Maybe a late spring break weekend?_ Glancing at our seat numbers, her eyebrows arch in mild surprise. "First class is right this way, Mr. Cullen," she says, gesturing at the doorway on the far left. "Another attendant will be on hand if you require any further assistance. Have a pleasant flight."

I thank her and guide an open-mouthed Bella through the indicated door. After a half dozen steps, she mutters critically, "First class, huh?" The scowl twisting her lips is as unwelcome as it is adorable.

Shrugging, I answer calmly, "Carlisle and Esme bought the vouchers, not me. All I did was schedule the flight."

She harrumphs, unsatisfied, but her displeasure eventually fades while we settle into our seats, Bella immediately claiming the spot next to the window. She appears awed and a bit intimidated by the apparent luxury of the first-class cabin.

I glance around for a moment, critiquing with a knowing eye. It is a bit less inviting than some of the European airlines, giving off more of a corporate air, but as long as it serves its purpose of seeing to Bella's comfort, it will do.

I stow our bags in the compartment above us, and she cranes her body upward to peek over the top of her seat. "Um, Edward…there's no one else here," she observes in a puzzled voice.

"It's still a bit early, love." I can hardly admit to the fact that I purchased nearly all of the surrounding seats just so we could have some privacy during the flight. I grin at her, and joke quietly, "We're not to only two passengers on the plane. Don't worry." Although I could have chartered a private jet if she had wished.

Some minutes later, a kindly flight attendant whose mental tenor vaguely reminds me of Angela Weber comes to our row and asks if we would like any refreshments. I decline, of course, but Bella requests some water and a glass of ice.

When the flight attendant presents her with a bottle of Evian and a crystal tumbler, the glare she shoots in my direction is not as reproving as I had expected, which causes me to feel a brief flicker of hope. Perhaps she is finally beginning to understand that wealth is merely a part of what it means to be a Cullen, and that it should not make her feel inadequate or uncomfortable. But it is only a hope.

At precisely 4:15, the plane taxis down the runway and rises into the sky, and I sense a enormous weight being removed from my mind. Every mile we travel now is another mile between Bella and the one yearning to end her life, and I know that my family will not allow her to escape this time. This threat_ will_ be eliminated while my Bella spends some much-needed time with her mother, all without the worry and fear of what will be happening at home in our absence that would plague her if I had told her everything.

I expect to feel relieved, even victorious…but instead a bitter tang lingers on my tongue, and Alice's sharp warning echoes in my head. _What matters is how Bella is going to feel when she finds out that you lied to her about visiting Renée in Florida. The end doesn't justify the means._

Bella unknowingly rescues me from wallowing in self-doubt by suggesting almost shyly, "Did you want to watch the in-flight movie?"

Looking sideways at her, the tender warmth in her deep brown eyes banishes my lingering uncertainty and I ask in return, "Do_ you_ want to watch the movie?"

She lifts a shoulder, wrinkling her nose a little. "Not really. I've seen it already, and it wasn't that great the first time." She reaches for my hand and pulls it onto her lap, wrapping her slender fingers around my palm.

"Okay, no movie." I have no objection to anything she does or does not want to see – I am only interested in watching one thing on this plane, and right now her heated touch is scorching my icy nerves like the embers of a hearth fire.

Silence covers the cabin for a few minutes. Bella flips my hand over and starts to trace the lines on my palm with a fingertip, back and forth, creating patterns that will be branded into my invulnerable flesh for hours. Yet as much as I am enjoying her caresses, I can tell that she is searching for something to pass the time when she exhales very softly and shifts her position a handful of millimeters.

Struck with sudden inspiration, I lean over and press my lips on the underside of her jaw, the delicious aroma of freesia wafting around me, and Bella's breath hitches in response. My nose skims along the curve of her cheekbone to her ear, and I murmur softly, "Would you like me to read to you? We're more or less completely alone, and I know you must have brought a few of your favorites." Another gentle kiss caresses her temple before I pull away, smirking at her dazed expression.

She shakes her head, blinking quickly, and then looks up at me with wide, incredulous eyes. "You want to read to me?" she says, as though she hadn't heard me correctly. I nod once in affirmation and her face lights up with pleasure for a whole second – until a slight frown tugs at her mouth. "You won't want to read what I want to hear," she sighs, disheartened. "But thanks anyway." A feeble grin struggles its way across her lips as she lowers her gaze to our joined hands still resting in her lap.

Now that I am aware of how meaningful it is to Bella that I read aloud to her, I could care less about her choice of literature, although I believe that I have a pretty good guess in mind.

With a single finger, I gently lift her chin and notice the glimmer of hope in her brown irises. Raising an eyebrow, I remark in an amused tone, _"Wuthering Heights?"_

A blaze of crimson heats her skin as she bites down on her lower lip, and then she gives the barest nod.

Without further ado, I rise out of my seat to retrieve her bag from the overhead compartment, tugging smoothly on the zipper. Bella's worn, dog-eared copy of the novel is right on top, so I easily take it out and stow her bag back in its place.

As I sit, a familiar hint of bronze catches my attention, peeking above the wrinkled pages from a spot she must have marked. I open the book slowly, and see myself between the words of Emily Brontë.

The photo's edges are warped from constant handling, even though it has only been a few weeks since I returned this to Bella from the hideaway beneath a loose floorboard in her bedroom, and my keen eyesight can make out the faint smudges from her fingers on and around my smiling face.

I study the doting, indulgent Edward in the picture with a twinge of nostalgia. This is tangible proof of how different circumstances could have been if I had not surrendered to fear mere hours after this photo was taken. Although I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge that while we had literally walked through hell to reach this crossroads in our relationship, the man that I was seven months ago had not yet come to terms with the fact that living out Bella's human life by her side would_ never_ be enough time.

The Edward of the past was naïve, shortsighted, and appallingly blind to the feelings of the girl he loved, convinced that her mortal heart could not possibly contain the same depth of devotion as his own.

_Fool,_ I chastise him inwardly.

Soft warmth presses against my side at the same time that Bella murmurs in question, "Edward?"

I slip the photo behind the book cover and wrap an arm around her fragile body, my chest squeezing with a rush of tenderness when she lays her head on my shoulder. For show, I clear my throat, and then begin reading in a low, velvet tone. " 'While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, always silent, and almost always in tears…' "

As we progress through two chapters, Bella becomes fully relaxed, almost drowsy, beside me, snuggling her cheek into my shirt while I read on. " 'That is quite possible,' remarked Heathcliff, forcing himself to seem calm: 'quite possible that your master should have nothing but common humanity and a sense of duty to fall back upon. But do you imagine that I shall leave Catherine to his_ duty_ and _humanity?'_ "

A quiet yawn warms the cool skin at the base of my throat. I glance down, angling my head slightly to see Bella's eyelids drooping with fatigue. Although she keeps insisting that she is sleeping better these last few weeks than she can remember, she still does not gain the necessary amount of rest that is recommended for someone her age. And since we have an uninterrupted block of time until the plane lands in Jacksonville, she should try to take a short nap.

"You can sleep," I encourage her gently, stroking her arm with the lightest touch. Meanwhile, I begin to slide the photograph – without looking at its poignant image – to save the place where I left off, even though Bella probably has most the book memorized.

"Wait." She stops my hand with her own. "Can you read a little more? Please?" Tired brown eyes plead with me from within her heart-shaped face, and combined with the unrivaled power she is able to wield by speaking that one small word, I have not the slightest hope of denying her.

I sigh in defeat; however, I can hardly complain as Bella nestles even closer against me, the faint echo of her heartbeat vibrating inside my ribcage, and then I return to the story.

Her breathing slows almost as soon as I pick up where I'd left off, so I lower my voice even further, crooning the words like a lullaby – although they are hardly comforting in and of themselves as Heathcliff continues his impassioned speech. " 'At a most miserable period of my life, I had a notion of the kind: it haunted me on my return to the neighborhood last summer; but only her own reassurance could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then, Linton would be nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words would comprehend my future – _death _and _hell:_ existence, after losing her, would be hell.' "

Oddly enough, I can now see a dim reflection of myself in Heathcliff, but I cast the mixed emotions aside and store them away in my multi-layered brain for future examination.

" 'Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she valued Edgar Linton's attachment more than mine. If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have: the sea could be as readily contained in that horsetrough, as her whole affection be monopolized by him. Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse.' "

I snort in wry amusement. That Heathcliff would compare his rival Linton to a dog is a comical coincidence, to say the least.

Bella stirs, roused a bit by my lapse of control, and mumbles into my shirt, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I reply, and begin to smooth her hair with my palm – an action that has worked wonders in the past – while I turn my eyes back to the novel. " 'It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?' "

Sleep finally claims Bella not two minutes later. I set the book on the empty seat at the end of our row and then motion for the flight attendant, requesting a blanket. The soft gray fabric will protect Bella from the cool filtered air of the cabin and my chilled skin, and once she is suitably wrapped up I close my eyes and rest my cheek on the crown of her head.

While I am incapable of joining her in slumber, these moments when I hold her as she sleeps, lovely and vulnerable, are infinitely precious to me. I have learned to quiet my thoughts, to drift in the soothing rhythms of her breaths and pulse – and in these times I can find respite, something that I now know I tried in vain to achieve in my ninety years of existence through music or solitude.

But Bella is my only solace, the safe harbor for my…soul, and I will never relinquish her love again.

The next four hours are welcomingly peaceful. Weary as she is, Bella does not utter a single sound, though I am watchful for the barest shiver and I monitor her body temperature carefully.

In due course, the seatbelt light clicks on just as I sense the airplane shifting in its path, the pilot preparing to begin descent.

Apologetic, I brush my fingers across her cheek, moving my body sideways in an added effort to wake her. "Bella," I call, prompting a faint shiver from her as my exhale raises goosebumps on her neck. "We're here. The plane's about to land."

Her eyes blink open, and she looks around groggily while I settle her in her seat and fasten the belt around her waist. Outside the window, the dark storm clouds that Alice had predicted are starting to disperse, allowing unruly rays of red-orange sunlight to pierce the safe shadows of the approaching dusk.

I stare at the half-hidden ball of fire hanging low on the horizon, a flicker of misgiving prickling my mind. Alice had assured me that the sun would not be a problem when we arrived, and I trust her visions completely, but…

A sharp gasp breaks into my worried thoughts, and Bella's head whips towards the window as she sits bolt upright, held in place by the seatbelt. Twisting sideways, she then looks up at me with wide-eyed fear and squeaks, "Edward!"

"What's wrong?" I ask in a bewildered tone. Behind her, the fiery glow has once again vanished behind the clouds.

She must notice my gaze flicking to the window, for she spins back around and yanks down the shade, then turns to whisper frantically, "What are you going to do about the sunlight?"

Touched by her concern, I nevertheless cannot bear to see her exquisite features so marred by panic, and I reach out to cradle her face between my hands, my thumbs lightly caressing her skin. "It's all right, love. Alice told me that it would be cloudy enough this evening for me to move about safely."

"But –"

I gently put two fingers over her lips, silencing the obvious protest. "She has never been wrong before, and I trust her," I say in a soft yet firm voice. "Besides, you said that Renée will be late in picking us up from the airport, and the sun is due to set very shortly."

Her frightened stare loses some of its potency as my words sink in, and I lean towards her to kiss her brow, lingering while the heat of her body seeps into my lips.

When I draw back, she is wearing the most peculiar expression. It seems almost…troubled. "Now what?" I tease good-naturedly. Whatever is causing her distress will be easily and swiftly dealt with; all she has to do is tell me.

"I just realized…" She wriggles her shoulders as though uncomfortable. "I mean, I already knew – but it just kind of hit me a second ago, and now…" Flustered, she halts the babbling, and then heaves a deep sigh.

I am practically teetering on the edge of sanity while she deliberates inside that impenetrable mind of hers, and finally, after chewing on her bottom lip for six agonizing seconds, she speaks. "It's not just the sunlight now that you have to avoid. You're going to have to stay indoors for the next two days, aren't you?" It comes out as more of a statement than a question, but even so, I give her a small nod. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, frowning, and presses her hand over mine on her cheek.

_Always so selfless._ Shaking my head, I offer her a crooked smile and reply affectionately, "Don't be. It's a small sacrifice compared to giving you the chance to spend some time with your mother."

When she continues to gaze at me, compassion and guilt swirling in the depths of her chocolate eyes, I lift my hand to trace the tiny V shape in the middle of her forehead with a single finger, willing the lines to disappear. "It will be fine, love," I assure her again.

Suddenly, the whine of the jet's engines changes pitch, signaling that the plane is beginning its approach to the runway. "Ladies and gentlemen," a flight attendant's pleasant voice crackles over the loudspeaker, "as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Please turn off all electronic devices until we are safely parked at the gate. Thank you." The speaker clicks off.

Bella latches onto my hand, her heartbeat accelerating as the plane shudders around us, the engines growing louder. "I hate this part," she mutters, and shuts her eyes tightly.

I rub soothing circles onto the back of her hand with my thumb, not concerned in the least. From what I can detect in their minds, both the captain and co-pilot are highly competent and go about their duties with skilled efficiency.

Soon, we are touching down and coasting to a slow crawl. Through the shade covering the window, I can make out a muted tint of peach light, before the long shadows of the terminal blot it out.

The flight attendant makes another announcement while Bella lets out a relieved breath, though she does not let go of my hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Jacksonville International Airport. Local time is 7:17PM and the temperature is 78°. For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please remain seated…"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** _Wuthering Heights_ quotes are taken from Chapters 12 and 14.

Heaps of gratitude goes out to everyone that leaves a review. No matter how big or small, I appreciate each and every one. I realize that I haven't responded to everyone, but I will try my best to change that. Please know that if I haven't written a reply to yours yet, I have read them all, and am so thankful for each one.

Side note: I_ adore_ Muse's new song, "Neutron Star Collision". It was playing in the background during the last quarter of this chapter, and definitely helped me and my muse (no pun intended) overcome a bit of writer's block.

*****UPDATE 5/23/10*** I realize the glaring inconsistency of this chapter is the time elapsed from when Edward and Bella leave Forks for Seattle, and then the flight from Sea-Tac to Jacksonville. For the sake of salvaging the plot of this chapter, let's just say that school got out early (say, 12 noon), the departure time from Sea-Tac was 2:15pm instead of 4:15, so they still arrived (after a 5-hour flight) in Jacksonville at 7:17pm. _*sigh*_ I knew that I was probably setting myself up for disaster when I decided to involve logistics. Please forgive me, and try to look past that error to focus on what is happening with the characters. Thank you.**


	6. Florida

**Chapter Notes:** I won't waste time with a long-winded explanation, but I will say that I'm so sorry for keeping everyone in suspense these last number of weeks. I had planned to finish the entire Florida chapter before posting it, but it's so massive and I just can't bear to hold it back from all of you anymore, so it's been broken up into two parts.

I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The stark florescent glare of the terminal's lighting battles with the soft yet vivid peach-rose of the sunset, visible overhead through the many rectangular skylights as we mingle with other disembarking passengers in Jacksonville International Airport.

I collect our bags from luggage while Bella waits a dozen or so yards away in a small lobby. My sensitive hearing strains to keep a lock on her pounding heartbeat amidst the commotion and the swell of mental voices inside my head, and I have to remind myself not to move too quickly or shift the insignificant weight of our belongings with too little effort.

Once I have helped her adjust the wide strap of her bag across her shoulder – I could carry everything, of course, but pretense is a critical aspect of maintaining appearances among humans – I reach for her hand and begin to move at a leisurely pace towards the food court. Bella slept through the in-flight meal, and she is bound to be hungry.

"Edward, where are we going?" she asks suspiciously as the heavy smells of cooking oil, deep-fried batter and grilled meat saturates the artificially cool breeze swirling out of the air conditioning vents.

There is the slightest resistance in her grip on my hand, but I continue to guide her forward, murmuring, "You haven't eaten dinner yet, love, and you barely touched your lunch. You need nourishment."

She tugs at my arm – a butterfly attempting to topple an oak. "I'm not hungry, really. I'm fine."

As though on cue, her stomach growls. I glance sideways just in time to watch her face flush a delicious shade of red. Chuckling, I steer her to a nearby table and pull out a chair. "You were saying?" My smirk is teasing as I gesture for her to sit, which she does with a huff, pouting adorably.

My eyes dart around, examining the brightly colored vendor signs, searching for an appropriate restaurant. Luckily, there is one only a short distance from us, and the line is relatively small compared to some of the others.

With my back to the food court and Bella's pulse singing in my ears, I manage to catch brief glimpses of her fiddling with a strand of her hair while I wait to place an order through the eyes of an older gentleman reading _The Wall Street Journal _three tables over, and within the refreshingly uncluttered mind of a young boy with his family as he cranes his head over the back of his seat to study the surrounding patrons with unabashed curiosity.

Minutes later I present her with a turkey sandwich prepared exactly as she likes and a bottle of lemonade – a purely nostalgic choice on my part.

Bella eyes me first, then the sandwich, and heaves a sigh, her slender fingers pulling at the wrappings. She takes a bite, rolling her eyes in exaggerated annoyance when I grin at her broadly, steeping my fingers together beneath my chin.

Between less-than-satisfying nibbles on her sandwich and swigs of lemonade, Bella and I discuss my previous visits to Florida. Her chocolate brown eyes grow wide in fascination as I relay the tale of Alice's quest to learn all forms of dance in the world, which is how I ended up with her, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie in Miami in the late 50's.

Though she and Jasper hadn't been with our family for very long, Alice managed to convince all of us to take a weekend trip so that she could study salsa directly from the Cubans migrating to the United States.

Of course, what ended up happening is that Jasper had not yet established a tenuous grip on self-control among overheated, gyrating humans, and secluded himself in the motel for most of our stay. And since Rose and Emmett had been typically absorbed in each other, Alice recruited me as her dance partner at every cantina and block party within a fifty-mile radius of the city.

"Wait." Bella stares at me with an awestruck expression, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. "Are you telling me that_ you_ know how to salsa dance?"

I exhale slowly, nodding in sad confirmation. "Regrettably, yes. Alice wouldn't take no for an answer, and she already knew of my musical ability so I had no problem keeping with the rhythm…"

A perfectly unrestrained giggle escapes from Bella before she smothers it with a hand. The sound warms my cold body from the inside out, prompting me to try and incite that response from her again. Pretending to be indignant, I say, "I'll have you know that I am quite an accomplished dance partner, Miss Swan. In fact," I scowl a bit at the memory, "Alice was so impressed that she wanted the two of us to enter a local competition, but Jasper's well-being came first, and he was anxious to return home."

She laughs, whether at the story or my disgruntled look, I do not know nor care. "I would have liked to have seen that," she comments, a trace of wistfulness in her voice, and flicks the discarded bottle cap towards me with her thumb and forefinger.

I trap the circular piece of plastic beneath my palm, and then spin it between my fingers, creating a makeshift top that whirls across the middle of the table. Her eyes follow its blurring revolutions while I watch her face and offer mildly, "I could give you a demonstration." She blinks up at me in surprise, her mouth dropping open. "But," I hold up a finger, stipulating, "you would have to promise to allow me to teach_ you_ how to salsa, as well." A single eyebrow lifts, daring her to accept my terms.

She grimaces, wrinkling her nose. "Edward, you know I don't dance."

"It's easier than it looks," I assure her. Despite my earlier embarrassment, the chance to instruct Bella in this dance is suddenly a highly appealing notion. "The steps are fairly simple – most of the movement is in the hips."

Faster than I would have believed possible, her cheeks flood with color, the rosy glow warming the air a fraction of a degree, and she drops her eyes, her heartbeat jumping into a rapid thrum.

I stare at her lowered head, confused, though it quickly shifts to frustration. What is going on in that captivating mind of hers? What had I said that triggered such a strong reaction? "What are you thinking?" I blurt out, desperate for some sort of explanation.

Her head whips from side to side in downright refusal.

"Bella…" A low growl rumbles in the back of my throat. One day, I will truly go mad with the suspense. I reach out my hand and gently tilt her chin upwards, prepared to use whatever coercive means at my disposal to gain an answer.

Her eyelids flutter, and then she reluctantly meets my gaze. Purposely, I breathe out, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she inhales the sweet scent, and her pupils dilate while I hold her captive within my relentless stare. "Tell me. Please?" It is half command, half plea.

Bella takes a sharp breath, and the tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her lips before she mumbles, "Um, well…" She bites down on her full bottom lip as though to prevent the words from being spoken.

Continuing to hold her eyes with my own, I gently tug the dusky rose flesh away from her teeth with my thumb, my impatience burning hotter than the constant sting of thirst, though I try to uphold an earnest, attentive expression.

A little sigh of defeat escapes her, and then she says almost helplessly, "It's just…"

Shrill electronic notes tinkle out a melody from inside Bella's carry-on and she blinks, a look of deep relief crossing her flushed features. Turning her head, she slips out of my grasp and digs in her bag for her cell phone.

My jaw bunches as I grit my teeth, inwardly commanding the incessant curiosity to recede while at the same time griping about Renée's ill-timed call.

I lean back in my seat, unable to hide my disappointment, and Bella gives me a quick smile that is somehow triumphant and apologetic as she presses the answer button on her phone. "Hi, Mom."

"Oh, Bella, baby, I'm so sorry!" Renée practically wails. "I was cleaning, and then Phil called… I completely lost track of time! What a great way to start your weekend – your own mother forgets to pick you up at the airport." The disparaging way she talks about herself causes me to wonder fleetingly if perhaps Bella's own lack of self-esteem is a learned behavior.

Naturally, her daughter proceeds to soothe her by speaking in a soft, patient voice, "It's okay, Mom, really. We're fine. We just had something to eat at the food court." She glances up at me conspiratorially, knowing full well that I literally cannot stomach human food, and I wink at her. "Are you here now?" she then asks.

"Yes, I'm pulling up to the front right now. I'm so sorry, Bella," she apologizes again. "I'll make it up to you, honey. We'll go shopping tomorrow, okay?" Her tone brightens considerably at this suggestion.

Unbeknownst to her, Bella visible cringes in dismay, but manages to respond positively. "Sure, that'd be great. See you in a bit." She hangs up and places the phone back in her bag, muttering to herself, "More shopping. Alice would love to have her around." Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she moves to stand.

Quicker than I should have, I dash to her side and pull out her chair, remarking, "I doubt Renée could keep up with Alice's voracious appetite for the latest bargain."

"You'd be surprised," Bella counters darkly. She straightens, and then frowns, her head tilting to the side a little. A handful of her mahogany locks are trapped underneath the bag's strap. I carefully free the strands from the added weight and tuck them behind her ear, absurdly proud of the action when she sends me a grateful smile.

Taking her hand in mine, I lead the way through the terminal, dodging the occasional absentminded passerby while ignoring numerous stares and a barrage of internal commentaries until we reach the row of glass doors to head outside.

A blast of hot, humid air precedes our exit and Bella balks a little, a mildly repulsed grimace on her face. This surprises me; I had always assumed that she craved the heat and brilliant sun since she had often spoken of her home in Phoenix with obvious wistfulness, but perhaps the cool, wilder air of Forks has begun to appeal to her.

My nostrils flare once out of instinct, marking the different smells in a fraction of a second. The warm, burning scent of human blood pales in comparison to the scorching sweetness emanating from the woman at my side, yet both are easily dismissed as I breathe in the lingering traces of rain from the thunderstorm Alice had promised. I also detect a spicy fragrance that seems vaguely familiar, the oily aroma of car exhaust, the sharp bite of jet fuel, and just the barest hint of salty tang from the ocean.

"Bella!"

Her heartbeat stutters at the sound of her name, and she slips out of my grasp to race into the open arms of her mother, waiting about six cars down the line.

Renée does not seem to notice as Bella's bag crashes against her shins before falling to the ground, and she kisses her daughter's cheek, murmuring, "I've missed you, sweetie."

"I've missed you, too, Mom," is Bella's choked reply.

The well-known sting of guilt stabs into my mind, sullying the simple joy of this moment. Although Bella has voiced repeatedly that she wants to spend eternity with me, I wonder if she has fully come to terms with the realities of that choice.

They hold onto one another for a few more seconds, and then Renée catches sight of me hanging back several steps over Bella's shoulder. "Ah…" She pulls back, wiping her eyes with her fingertips, and smiles ruefully. "Sorry about that, Edward. I'm sure you weren't expecting to deal with a bunch of weeping women." She holds out her right hand in greeting and I close the distance quickly to clasp it.

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, but she smothers it with a wide grin, thinking, _Wow, cold hands. Must be from the air conditioning. _"I'm glad you could come with Bella this weekend. I know you're very important to her," she adds, while her mind flits briefly to the memory of a brokenhearted girl huddled on her bed, tearstains on her cheeks. It is replaced a beat later with a vibrant, joyful image of her daughter from just minutes ago.

"Mom…" Bella groans, blushing.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Dwyer," I reply politely, struggling to banish the desolate picture Renée's thoughts had conjured from my mind. "I'm pleased to have been able to come. Bella is very important to me, too." I glance at her from the corner of my eye and she ducks her head, her mouth bowing into a faint smile.

Renée beams at us, amused by our display of 'young love', as she labels it. Then she waves a hand, remarking, "Please, call me Renée. Mrs. Dwyer just sounds so…matronly." She titters and loops an arm through Bella's, steering her towards the car parked next to the curb on our right – a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle convertible with the top down.

"Um, wow." Bella stares at the vehicle in amazement. "I didn't know you'd bought a new car."

"It was time for something different," Renée announces, as though it should be a perfectly valid reason. "Do you like it?" She gestures at the glossy paint like a game show hostess, inwardly hoping for her daughter's approval.

Bella studies the car for several seconds, lips pursed in speculation. "I like it," she says, smirking. "It fits you."

Delighted, Renée opens the trunk to stow our bags and then the three of us climb in – Bella in the passenger seat and me directly behind her in back, just in case something should happen out on the road. It seems unlikely, but Renée can be a bit flighty, and Florida's highways are notorious for speeders.

We drive along the shoreline, the waning glow of the sunset only a thin line of orange on the horizon. The waves sparkle in the blue-violet twilight, and the crisp aroma of the sea mingles with Bella's freesia scent and the smell of patchouli clinging to Renée as she prattles non-stop during the entire trip.

Bella seems content to listen – I glimpse her tiny smile in the side mirror – and for the most part her mother acts oblivious to my presence, as though I am merely an extension of her daughter. The idea of me being perceived as a permanent fixture in Bella's life is tremendously satisfying, I must admit.

Once, however, Renée notices my rapt attention to the way the wind plays with Bella's mahogany tresses and comments to herself, _He seems so committed to her. And he's such a nice-looking boy…and so polite! Maybe Charlie's wrong about him…_

His terse voice echoes in her thoughts, recalling a phone conversation they'd had while we were en-route. _"I don't care how respectful he seems, Renée, do not trust that boy with our daughter. Make him sleep on the couch, don't let them go anywhere alone together, and under no circumstances do not let him get_ near _her bedroom."_

_Renée had laughed, affectionately calling him an overprotective father. "I think you're being a bit paranoid," she'd added. "I know you and I were…concerned about what happened six months ago, but obviously that's not an issue anymore. Bella told me that things have been settled."_

"_Yeah," he'd said darkly. "That's what I'm afraid of." A sharp gust of breath rattled into the speaker. "He's no good for her, Renée. First he got his hooks into her so deep that she hardly left his side, and then he left her high and dry without so much as a 'call you later', and now he's back, pulling her away from her friends…her family…" His voice trailed off, sounding forlorn._

"_Or maybe she's just growing up," Renée said gently. "Bella's not a little girl anymore, Charlie." She chuckled. "She never was. She's going to college in the fall, and it seems pretty clear that Edward will be in the picture for at least that long. You have to let her go," she murmured, while wondering if she should take her own advice to heart. "Bella is smart, practical. She won't run headfirst into anything drastic."_

"_Like her parents?" Charlie questioned gruffly._

_Renée didn't answer. Her mind was full of staring eyes, condescending words and a rounding belly that had betrayed her choices to the world._

_He'd sighed again, long and sad. "Just…promise me that you'll keep an eye on him. On both of them."_

_She had made that promise, more to appease him than anything else, and then they'd said their goodbyes._

My jaw muscles feel tight with strain. I turn my head sideways in the guise of watching the ocean while attempting to digest all the information that Renée has unwittingly given me.

Bella's mother does not see herself in her daughter, thinking her too smart and practical to make the mistake of marrying young and birthing a child right after high school – but Charlie seems to worry that Bella might be more like Renée than either of them will admit.

And the way he described me… my presence in their daughter's life…

I_ am_ pulling her away from all that she knows. Every moment she spends with me, she treads deeper into the dark realm of my world, and someday soon she will leave this one behind forever. I had tried to push her back into the world she had come from; I had removed myself from her life in the hopes of restoring what she was steadily losing…and that mistake had nearly cost us everything.

We both know that we can never be apart. But can I endure the rest of forever with Bella at my side, knowing that my selfishness robbed her of any chance of seeing her loved ones again?

…_didn't hear me?_ "Edward?" Renée's puzzled voice seeps into the fog coating my mind, but does not completely divert my awareness from the gloomy future that my subconscious has created.

Then an angel calls my name, fraught with concern. "Edward?"

Looking away from the crashing waves, I focus on the pale heart-shaped face peering around the side of the passenger seat, brown eyes wide and anxious. I blink a few times and rake my fingers through my wind-tousled hair. "Sorry," I tell both her and Renée, smiling a little. "I guess I was daydreaming. Did you ask me something, Mrs. – Renée?"

"I was just curious if you'd been to Florida before," Renée repeats generously, her eyes touching mine briefly in the rearview mirror.

"Once or twice," I answer, acutely aware of the fact that Bella is still staring at me, her gaze filled with silent questions. I keep my tone light as I go on. "It was a long time ago. Although I do remember the humidity," I joke, pretending to wipe sweat off my brow.

Renée laughs, once again thinking that Charlie's warning is unfounded, and then launches into a reminiscence of her first trip to Orlando.

Bella continues to watch my face, so I meet her eyes and shake my head the tiniest bit, smiling crookedly in a manner I know she cannot help but respond to. Sure enough, she grins in relief before settling back into her seat.

Ten minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a modest split-level, a trio of palm trees occupying the front lawn. The pale yellow paint covering the house is slightly weathered, but with its red shutters and white trim, the overall picture is quite charming.

After pointing out that the beach is only a short walk away – "Just follow the sidewalk until it ends and you're there!" – Renée ushers us inside, chattering about the new furniture she and Phil had bought for the living room.

A quick examination of the main floor makes it very clear that Bella's mother prefers warm, bright colors. Compared to the light neutral tones of my family's home, this house is a virtual explosion of desert red, gold, umber, and a soft ivory. The patchouli fragrance that I have come to associate with Renée fills every space, along with a rich, earthy smell that must be from Bella's stepfather.

We march along dutifully as Renée gives us the tour, commenting at various intervals about certain décor and so forth, until eventually we reach the upstairs bedroom that had been chosen for Bella.

The area is at least twice as big as her room at Charlie's, and the walls are the lightest cream, reflecting the warm glow of the ceiling fan. Gauzy curtains hang over the windows, and the dresser in the far corner plays host to memorabilia from Bella's childhood. I notice several framed pictures, a battered seashell, a small plaster cast covered with signatures, and a potted cactus that could be the twin to the one sitting on a shelf back in Forks.

Fascinated by this rare glimpse into her life before we'd met, I vow to study everything in detail later as Bella walks slowly towards the bed. She tosses her bag on the floor and then brushes her fingertips across the unusual-looking quilt draped over the mattress. "Mom, what is this?" she asks wonderingly.

"An early graduation present." Renée joins her beside the bed, grinning in excitement. "Do you recognize these?"

Her head whips up as she gasps, amazed, "Our old trip t-shirts!" At Renée's nod, Bella turns back to the quilt, craning her head to the side to study every image. "I can't believe you made them into a quilt," she murmurs very quietly, and I can tell by the slight catch in her voice that she is touched by the gift.

"It was easier than you might think," Renée says, feigning nonchalance, but her thoughts are vibrating with celebration. "Your mom has become quite the crafter." She smoothes a wrinkle in the fabric, and her expression is almost solemn, although a faint smile still curves her lips. "I just wanted you to have a little reminder of me when you go off to college." _So you'll think of your scatterbrained mother once in a while._ "And besides," she remarks, her smile widening, "if you do decide to go to Alaska, you'll need all the extra blankets you can get." She looks up, and frowns at the distressed look on Bella's face. "Sweetie, are you all right?"

Taking a deep breath, Bella forces a grin and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Her gaze starts to move in my direction, but she stops herself. I swallow hard to combat the thick lump in my throat, reminded yet again of the consequences of her choice to become like me. "This is great, Mom," Bella declares, her dark eyes swimming with emotion. "It's perfect. Thank you." And she launches herself into Renée's surprised arms.

"You're welcome," she murmurs, stroking her daughter's hair, a hundred memories of holding her little girl flitting across her mind's eye.

I stay silent for a minute, every breath heavy with a sense of loss for Bella's limited humanity, and soon I shift my footing out of habit, the floor creaking softly beneath my weight.

They move apart, both embarrassed at forgetting my presence – as evidenced by Renée's internal apologies and Bella's reddened cheeks – and then Renée glances over at me as she says in a lighthearted tone, "We're not usually like this, Edward, I promise." She exhales, smiling, and gives Bella a meaningful look before announcing, "Enough with the heavy. Let me show you the guest room."

I step aside for her to walk through the doorway. Following her mother, Bella pauses for a heartbeat to squeeze my hand tightly, gratitude shining in her dark eyes. She does not release my fingers until we join Renée in the guest room.

Situated directly across the hall from the master bedroom, the guest suite shares the second bathroom with Bella's room. That would_ really_ not sit well with Charlie, I smirk to myself.

One large rectangular window sits above a full-size bed made of scuffed honey-colored wood, and the navy quilt is almost totally covered by garment bags and shoeboxes, with more cardboard shapes stacked on top of one another against the far wall.

"Sorry it's such a mess." Renée attempts to move several garment bags, slinging them over an arm and stumbling towards the closet, where she throws them on the floor and then shoves the door closed. "We're still trying to get unpacked." She shrugs helplessly. "I cleared out most of the junk that still needs to be sorted so you'd have a place to sleep."

A stifled laugh ripples out from Bella as I reply with sincerity, "This is fine, Renée. Thank you." I walk forward to the half-buried mattress and set my bag down in a show of acceptance.

Downstairs, the jangle of keys accompanies the sound of a pulse quickened by exertion, and a jumble of baseball plays echo in the back of my head.

"Oh!" Renée looks around me to the hallway. "Phil's home. Wait 'til he sees you!" She latches onto Bella's hand and begins to pull her towards the stairs, as giddy as a teenager. Bella glances over her shoulder to make certain that I am following just as her mother calls, "Honey, look who's here!"

I have never officially met Phil Dwyer, but Bella speaks of him fondly and is pleased that he makes her mother happy. So it is with deep curiosity that I slow my pace on the stairs and examine the dark-haired man standing in the living room below. He is dressed in khaki shorts and a dust-splattered, sweaty polo embroidered with the words 'Assistant Coach' and a picture of a shark, a worn gray ball cap on his head.

Phil finishes taking a swig of water from a nearly empty bottle and sees his wife leading Bella down the steps. His eyes light up and he grins, shouting, "Well, hey there, stranger!" He bounds over and enfolds her in a brief, affectionate hug. "I didn't get you dirty, did I?" he asks as he backs away, noting the changes since the last time he saw her. _She seems happy. And confident. Whatever is in Forks has made her more…alive._

"No, I'm good," Bella assures him with a laugh.

"So you here for the weekend? Or did you finally decide to put your mother and I out of our misery and move back home?" He turns to Renée and loops an arm around her shoulders. She leans in to give him a quick kiss.

"It's just a visit." Bella smiles at the two of them, seeming satisfied about the state of their relationship. "A last-minute visit," she amends, shooting me a halfhearted glare, "but we really wanted to come before graduation."

Phil tracks her gaze to me, his eyebrows arching in surprise. _So this must be the mysterious boyfriend,_ he thinks. "Who's this?" he inquires aloud, not wishing to assume.

I come away from the wall to stand beside Bella. She fidgets nervously and then starts the introductions. "Phil, this is Edward Cullen. Edward, this is Phil Dwyer."

As a product of the post-Victorian era, I extend my hand first. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dwyer," I say courteously.

Impressed by my good manners, Phil grasps my hand, noting the chill of my skin but, as Renée had earlier, attributes it to the air conditioning. "Likewise. And you can call me Phil." _Maybe the changes in Bella have more to do with _whoever _is in Forks._ He eyes the sliver of space between her body and mine, and the way that our gazes drift back to one another every few seconds. _Seems like a nice kid – respectful, good-looking –_ A burst of color blooms on Bella's cheeks when I offer her a lopsided grin. _And she's crazy about him,_ Phil ends his thought with certainty.

"Okay, no more awkward silence." Renée slides out from under Phil's arm and gestures to the glass patio door just visible through the kitchen doorway. "Let's go sit out on the patio and chat. I want to hear all about what's been happening up there in rainy old Forks." She bustles into the kitchen, collecting a lighter from a drawer for some reason, and then disappears outside.

Bella and Phil share a loaded glance. After, he claps me on the shoulder, remarking, "Don't worry about spilling your life story. You probably won't get a word in once Renée starts on all the reasons why Bella should go to the University of North Florida." He chuckles and strolls after his wife, stopping to grab some cans of pop from the fridge.

Once the patio door clicks shut, Bella turns to me. "Is everything okay?" she mutters worriedly.

I blink at her, puzzled. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Like always, she counters with another question. "What happened in the car?"

"Nothing," I reply in a soothing undertone, reaching out to cradle her face in my palms. "I was just lost in thought. Don't be anxious." Unable to resist, I touch my lips to her forehead, relishing the heat of her skin and the searing fire in my throat. She lets out a little sigh and I can almost feel the tension leaving her tiny frame. "We should really get outside before Phil and Renée become suspicious," I suggest, and motion towards the kitchen.

The patio is a smooth slab of concrete covered by a wicker table and four chairs, a tall wooden arbor laced with flowering vines and multicolored paper lanterns arrayed overhead. Flickering candle flames border the edges of the patio and light up the table, the humid air saturated with the lemony bite of citronella to ward off the mosquitoes.

Bella and I sit down, her eyes turned upward at the strings of lights, patches of velvety black sky peeking through the leaves and wood slats. "Wow," she murmurs in an awed voice. "This is beautiful, Mom."

For the better part of an hour, the conversation touches on a variety of subjects. Renée asks after Bella's friends at school, her job at Newton's Outfitters, and thankfully does not mention the dog. The email Bella had sent must have clued her in on their strained friendship.

Renée also wonders about my family; she had briefly met Carlisle and Alice at the hospital in Phoenix last year. I gloss over most of the specifics and simply reiterate for Phil's benefit that Carlisle and Esme adopted my siblings and me a few years ago.

During the discussion, I marvel at the differences between Renée's mind and what I know of Charlie's, speculating as to how such a combination had created the only person in the world whose thoughts are hidden from my talent.

Like a young child, Renée is prone to shift her attention from one thing to another as easily as a bird changing direction in mid-flight. Whatever pops into her head, she immediately speaks aloud, but sometimes a thought or observation disappears from her awareness just as quickly.

In contrast, Phil is straightforward and focused, less attentive to behavior and more alert to the words being spoken and how they are delivered.

I had gathered from the first time we'd met that Renée was incredibly insightful despite her erratic thought patterns, but she somehow manages to catch me off-guard while Bella is talking to Phil about the high school baseball team he is assistant coaching.

A surprisingly sharp image of Bella and I floats into view, and she focuses on the shrinking distance between her chair and mine, and how our bodies are angled towards one another, almost so that our shoulders are nearly touching. _They're like magnets,_ she muses, _always closing the distance between them. Even before, in the house, they were never more than arm's length apart._

As though to confirm her mother's assessment, Bella adjusts her posture a half-inch and presses her shoulder against mine without breaking off her conversation with Phil.

_It's like she doesn't even know it._ Renée's eyes grow wide in realization. _Like they're so in tune with each other that every movement is unconscious._ She stares hard at her daughter, trying to uncover the truth in her expression as she laughs at some comment Phil made. _Bella said last March that it was just a crush. But she was so broken up when he left…and now that he's back… it seems a lot more serious than some high school fling. _Her gaze flicks to me. _For both of them._

Elation and unease churn within my complicated thoughts, as Renée is not far off the mark with her insight. I knew from the first moment that Bella whispered my name as she slept that I would love only her until the end of eternity, and her actions in Volterra and the forgiveness she bestowed upon me after I committed the most heinous sin has proven that her feelings are as strong – if not stronger – than my own. My elation has sprung forth from the knowledge that Renée, as an outside observer, can perceive the bond between us and understand that it is not a one-sided infatuation.

On the other hand, my unease is for Bella and how she will react if or when her mother decides to address what she has seen. Renée obviously instilled in her daughter an intense set of opinions regarding matrimony, and I know Bella fears what her mother will say about her only child getting married right out of high school, which is part of the reason why she has not yet accepted my proposal.

She calls my name a second later, drawing me into Phil's talk of baseball, and I insert a few sentences about the game my family enjoys – leaving out the fact that we have to wait for a thunderstorm to play, of course – and my stature in Phil's eyes elevates exponentially.

At the same time, I monitor Renée's thoughts closely. I hope to field any of her attempts to broach the topic of our relationship, but she surprises me by dismissing her astute notion as an impossibility.

_Don't be silly, Renée,_ she chides herself, watching the three of us converse._ Bella is only eighteen – just starting out in life. She has plenty of time to earn a degree, get a good job and then think about settling down. I mean, who knows enough about love at eighteen? I sure didn't. _Smiling a bit wistfully, Renée twists off the tab on the can of pop in front of her. _But Bella's not like me. She was born middle-aged. She's too practical to leap off that cliff now. Still…_ She glances up from the piece of aluminum pinched between her fingers, her eyes moving from Bella to me and back again. Then the half-formed thought drifts away like dandelion fluff in a breeze.

A half-hour passes without incident, although the strength of the citronella has waned and I have to flick seven mosquitoes off of Bella's soft skin before they can draw blood. She beats me to the eighth; the tiny pest is squashed into her palm as she slaps the side of her neck, grimacing. "That's my cue to go inside," she mutters, brushing her hand on her pant leg. Then a yawn stretches her mouth wide. When she recovers, Bella announces in a sleepy voice, "I think I'll just go to bed."

"Of course, sweetie, you both must be exhausted from the time change." Renée flutters her hands towards the sliding door as though shooing us away. "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning about what to do for fun while you're here." She grins brightly, already counting on a mother-daughter shopping excursion and maybe lunch at a favorite beachside bistro. Bella merely smiles in a resigned sort of way and stands up. I immediately follow suit.

Just before we head indoors, Phil calls out, "We're right across the hall. In case you need anything."

"Phil!" Renée hisses, smacking his arm.

A deep blush colors Bella's whole face and the tips of her ears, and she stomps through the doorway without another word. I bid them both good night with a self-conscious little smile and close the door behind me. The glass only slightly muffles Phil's chuckling murmur as he says, "I was just teasing. I like him."

I move slowly through the house, my primal instincts noting every available entry point and committing the layout to memory, while upstairs the rustle of clothing and the heartbeat of my entire world signal that Bella is nearly ready for bed.

Walking up the steps, I notice that the hallway is totally dark except for a thin sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. The rush of water pouring from the tap echoes behind it. I continue to the guest room and open my bag, pulling out a gray t-shirt and a pair of loose cotton pants – a suitable form of sleepwear – and swiftly put them on.

The bathroom door squeaks, and Bella pads barefooted to the guest room, hovering just outside the doorway. Her skin is flushed from being washed, and traces of mint toothpaste spoil the perfume of her breath when she remarks quietly, "So I guess you'll have to stay in here tonight." Her chocolate eyes are darkened by disappointment.

I nod once, trying not to notice how she is dressed for bed – a matching blue tank top and shorts that exposes far too much of her delectable creamy skin. "That's probably best." I have already proven in the last few days that my self-control is beginning to crack under the overwhelming temptation she presents to the man in me instead of the vampire. "We'll see how it goes tonight and perhaps things can be…more like normal tomorrow night."

Her downcast expression lights up at this prospect. Then she holds out her hand, asking hopefully, "Tuck me in?"

As if I could ever refuse her anything. I wrap her small, warm hand inside mine and let her lead me into her bedroom, making certain that Phil and Renée are still out on the patio, and wait beside the bed as she climbs in and curls onto her side.

Her eyes never leave my face as I fold the covers around her, breathing in deeply so as to hold her scent within my lungs while we are apart. Brushing my knuckles across her cheek, I whisper, "Good night, love," and bend down to kiss her forehead, her eyelids, and finally her lips.

She holds me there for longer than I had intended, teasing my bottom lip by pressing it so gently between hers, but when her hands start to tangle into my hair I force myself to pull away, my ragged breaths in perfect synchronization with hers. "Good night," she whispers, her voice throaty with desire. "I love you."

"I love you." The words float back to her in the darkness just before I close her door, though I decide to leave it open several inches for the sake of propriety in case her mother should check on her. I do the same with the guest room door, and then clear a few more shoeboxes and things from the bed.

Afterward, I stretch out on the mattress, hands tucked behind my head, and prepare to wait for an opportunity to call home.

Around 11:30, Renée and Phil shuffle inside and head upstairs to bed. As I had expected, she peeks in on Bella, smiling at the balled-up figure beneath the handmade quilt. Footsteps then pause for a few seconds outside my door and I regulate my breathing and close my eyes, but Renée is apparently satisfied and moves on to the master bedroom. Phil shuts their door with a soft click, and mere minutes later they are both asleep.

It is still too early on the West Coast to call home for an update, so I keep my eyes shut and focus on the gentle rhythm of Bella's pulse echoing from the other room. The sound is truly the only thing that can soothe me and make this tedious waiting more bearable.

Yet after an hour of losing myself in the music of her human life, the sudden, powerful hunger to feel the delicate warmth of her body in my arms, to hear her heartbeat reverberating against my stone flesh and see that tiny sleepy smile as she dreams becomes excruciatingly difficult to ignore. I have stayed by her side almost every night since our return from Italy, and this imposed separation is agonizing punishment. But really, is the situation any different from when I sneak in through her bedroom window and leave before Charlie wakes up?

A low hiss escapes through my teeth. I push the greedy ache deep down, vowing to make a phone call to my family before indulging my irrepressible need for Bella.

At half past three, I hit the speed-dial number for the house. It is picked up in the middle of the first ring. "Have you finished with your self-torture yet?" Alice scolds. "Really, you're making both Bella and yourself miserable, so just go to her already. It will be fine, trust me." Her tone is so smugly confident that I roll my eyes while at the same time a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. She sighs happily a beat later, no doubt witnessing the change in her vision in light of my decision. "There, much better."

"What's happening?" I ask in a low, urgent whisper.

"Nothing has shifted the course of the vision – at least not yet," Alice replies, her high voice abruptly weighed down with disquiet. "But the wolves have increased their patrol numbers, and they're concentrating heaviest on the treaty line." A hollow laugh warbles through the speaker. "I would guess that they think we're up to something."

Helplessness burns a ragged hole into my chest. "I should be there," I mutter fiercely. "I could hear their thoughts –"

"No, Edward." Alice's stern retort leaves no room for argument. "You are right where you should be, which is with Bella. She needs you more than we do." She sighs, and her voice softens, murmuring gently in my ear, "We can take care of this _together,_ Edward. You protect Bella, and the rest of us will look after Charlie and the town. And once_ she's_ gone –" a low snarl punctuates her reference to Victoria "– we'll have one less thing to worry about."

"I know." I exhale the admission in defeat, raking a hand through my hair. "Thank you, Alice. You always help me put things into perspective," I tell her honestly.

"One of my many talents," she answers, giggling. Then she sobers, instructing, "I'll contact you early Sunday morning to let you know what happens. I still can't see very well past tomorrow night… I'll send a text message before I call." There is a slight pause, followed by a gasp. "Bella's going shopping tomorrow with her mom? Why didn't you tell me?" I can hear the exasperation in her words.

Shaking my head, I slide my thumb to the end button, saying, "Goodbye, Alice."

"But you need to tell them to go to –"

The call cuts off and I snap the phone shut, tucking it into a side pocket in my bag.

I rise soundlessly from the rumpled bedclothes and move towards the door adjoining this room to the bathroom and thereby Bella's and pull it open. The hinges squeak just a bit as I slip through the gap, the pitch darkness of the bathroom of no consequence when I shut the door behind me and hesitate at the entrance to Bella's bedroom. Her heartbeat is much too fast for her to be asleep or suffering from a nightmare, so I make my way across the room in less than two seconds and curl up behind her on the bed.

The mattress is considerably larger than the one in her room at Charlie's, and it takes her a moment to recognize my presence…until my arms snake around her waist.

She jolts against me, her pulse accelerating, and splutters in an alarmed whisper, "Edward, you shouldn't be in here!"

She squirms, trying to turn around, but I hold her fast. Every cell in my body is soaking up her warmth, the knot in my chest slowly unwinding with each fiery breath of her intoxicating scent. Besides, she has no reason to fear any repercussions, and I tell her so while nuzzling the curve of her jaw with my nose. "Why? It's not any different than when Charlie is sleeping in the next room, and both Renée and Phil are fast asleep." I press my lips to a particularly soft spot beneath her ear and she shudders, the stiffness in her small frame weakening a little.

"But…" Stubborn as ever, she wriggles halfheartedly in my arms.

Doubt instantly pierces the bubble of contentment surrounding my mind. Does she not want me to stay with her tonight? Have I been smothering her with my constant closeness? I had been fighting to withstand the craving to be near her all night, but in my selfishness, I had not even bothered to consider what _she _might need.

Appalled by my behavior, I loosen my embrace, rolling backward until I am perched on the very edge of the mattress. Bella shifts to peer over a shoulder, bewildered. I cannot summon the courage to meet her gaze. "Unless you'd rather I leave…" I mumble, using the low volume to disguise the dejection, and prepare to sit up and return to my room.

Faster than I would have believed possible, she latches onto my shirt with both hands and yanks her body towards mine. "Yeah, right," she says, dark eyes aglow with the same longing that has plagued me.

Before I can register my surprise, she molds herself against me, burrowing her head underneath my chin, her palm flattening above my still heart. A quiet sigh seeps through the fabric covering my chest and warms the chilled skin, and every ounce of tension disappears from Bella when my arms instinctively encircle her fragile form. Relief chases away the doubt as I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling deeply.

We lay together in peaceful silence for some time; I almost think that Bella has fallen asleep, except that her heartbeat has not slowed beyond the usual rhythm. Craning my head to the side, I kiss her temple, watching her eyelids flutter while she fights to stay awake. "Sleep, love. I know you're tired."

"It was hard, before," she tells me softly. "I kept waking up." She rubs her cheek on the collar of my shirt, and my breath catches when her flushed skin sears the base of my throat. "I missed you."

The whispered confession is a soothing balm for my raw emotions and I tighten my hold, wondering for the thousandth time how I had ever convinced myself that I could endure my existence without this, without her.

"Sleep…" I croon in her ear. "I'm here." A gentle kiss graces the top of her head. "I won't leave." _Never again,_ I add silently, renewing my promise to stay by her side for as long as I am afforded the privilege.

She breathes out, slow and deep, at last succumbing to her exhaustion – but not before murmuring a scarcely audible reply. "I know."

The last dark hours before dawn pass by in a blissful haze. My concerns for my family slowly recede as the heat of Bella's supple body warms my stone-like shell, her quiet breaths and measured heartbeats filling the night like the sweetest music.

For the first time in weeks, mine is the only name she utters in her sleep, along with her dislike of shopping and an odd mention of sharks. I swallow back my chuckle in response to that one, and continue to shelter my reason for existing in my arms as the milky moonlight trickles through the palm leaves outside the window.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Lots of love to my dear, devoted readers and reviewers. I adore you all for your patience and your enthusiasm for this story.

_icrodriguez_ – you are an angel. Your personal note and review came at the perfect time in my hectic life, and helped me remember that writing is not just about making other people happy, but about finding myself and the love I have for these unforgettable characters. Thank you.

Many of you must have noticed my teeny little homage to _The Twilight Saga: Eclipse_ movie. I loved the scene between Bella and her mother so much that I wanted to include the trip t-shirts quilt in my story.

The second half of Bella and Edward's time in Florida is more than halfway written, and I won't make any promises about when it will be completed because I'm afraid of jinxing it again. I will say that lots more interesting things are going to happen, and the chapter is fittingly entitled, _Sunlight and Shadows._

Let the speculations begin.


	7. Sunlight and Shadows

**Chapter Notes:**

*insert complaint, protest, or insult of choice here*

I know. I am so incredibly sorry to have let this break stretch out so long. Please understand that I never intended to keep everyone waiting like this – things just got so insane in my life and then my writing muse disappeared for months. But now she has been released from captivity, and I am determined to let Edward's voice be heard through this story.

I hope that this chapter begins to repair your faith in me. Enjoy.

* * *

At sunrise, a beam of golden light streaks across the floor beside the bed and I automatically tense, waiting to hear movement or a stirring of consciousness in the master bedroom. But after more than twenty minutes of low breathing and the dull hum of latent thoughts, it becomes clear that Bella's mother and stepfather are not early risers like Charlie, which gives me the opportunity to linger here until Bella wakes up on her own.

Unfamiliar yet pleasant birdsong begin to fill the quiet as the sun continues to rise. The streak of light on the floor grows and climbs the far wall, illuminating some of the keepsakes on the dresser, and in the distance I can hear the splash of the waves on the shore as the morning tide arrives.

Bella's pulse quickens around eight o'clock and I turn onto my side, wanting to see her chocolate brown eyes flicker open to greet the new day and light up with the realization that I stayed with her. I had moved her carefully to the middle of the bed about two hours ago, when her shivering had become too much for me to tolerate. She had refused rather obstinately to remove her hand from over my heart, however, and I had neither the will nor the desire to deny her so I remained perfectly still, the warmth from her palm radiating to fill my entire being.

Those fingers twitch against me as she blinks, squinting a second later at the bright sunlight coming from the window, and I smile as the look I adore crosses her features when she focuses on my face. "Good morning, love," I say in a soft, tender voice.

Bella smiles drowsily and her hand slides from my chest along the side of my neck to rest on my cheek. Then her gaze dips to my mouth, revealing her thoughts, and I, needing no further encouragement, pull her close.

So soft and sweet, her lips shape themselves around mine, the rapid thrum of her heart harmonizing with the sounds of our quick breathing. Of its own accord, my hand on Bella's waist glides to the small of her back, pressing her into my chest – and an unexpected burst of heat meets my palm, nearly overwhelming me.

Her thin tank top had ridden up during the night and now exposes a sliver of creamy skin that my entire hand is suddenly ravenous to explore. I force myself to keep that hand from moving, although Bella unwittingly attempts to spur me on as she lets out a small gasp, arching into the cool touch on her back.

While every nerve in my body screams in protest, I break off from her tempting kisses and struggle to tell her, "Bella…we have to stop. Your mother and Phil will be waking up soon."

It is a feeble excuse and we both know it, but she eventually leans back just enough to meet my eyes, her expression telling me that she is sorry, that she doesn't regret it, that she understands, and that she loves me.

"I need to get in the shower," she says after a moment, and rolls to the other side of the bed to stand. Collecting her bag of toiletries and a folded pile of clothes from her bag, she pauses at the door to the bathroom and then glances over at me with a raised eyebrow. "Should you go back this way to your room?"

Grinning, I remark, "I think it's safe to take a more traditional route," and nod towards the entryway to the hall. I rise and walk over to the partially closed door, continuing lightly, "Have your human moment, love. I'll get dressed and head downstairs to make some coffee." Caffeine seems to be a required element for most people in the morning, and Bella is no exception. Sometimes she would not say more than two words to me until after she'd had a few sips of the strong-smelling brew.

"Well, be careful. That coffeemaker is brand-new," she warns before the bathroom door clicks shut.

I roll my eyes, though she cannot see. Just because of one little incident with her father's machine does not mean I will destroy every coffeemaker I come in contact with. It was fortunate on that morning that Alice had seen what would happen and had already picked up a replacement from the store by the time Charlie came down to have breakfast.

Back in the guest room, I dress in a pair of khaki pants and the blue button-down that Bella likes and then tread soundlessly downstairs while the water from the shower interrupts the stillness inside the house.

The coffeemaker sitting on the counter in the kitchen is a similar model to Charlie's, so I confidently replace the filter, pour in the coffee mixture and water, and press the button to start the brewing process.

The heavy aroma soon saturates the air and I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose in disgust, shifting my attention instead to the hazardous rays of sunlight spilling into the house. I will have to avoid the living room in the morning, since the windows face east, but the evening may present a bigger problem as the kitchen is to the west and one wall is almost entirely made of glass. I make a mental note to check the weather forecast, hoping that it will call for an afternoon thunderstorm or two.

Freesia tickles my nose, borne on a cloud of warm, moist air, and Bella breezes into the kitchen. "Mmm, coffee." She inhales a deep breath, smiling, her skin flushed from the shower and damp strands of brown hair stick to the sides of her throat. When I manage to tear my eyes from her radiant features, I notice what she is wearing – and the vision jolts my whole body like lightning.

The rose-colored top bares Bella's arms to the curve of her shoulders, the rounded collar highlighting the delicate slope of her collarbones, and pale, shapely legs extend from modestly cut jean shorts to her feet, already fitted into her favorite worn pair of sneakers.

I have to consciously remind myself to breathe. Her skin looks so soft, like the finest silk, and there is _so much_ of it… My hands tingle with the yearning to stroke the elegant lines of her arms, the swell of her calf, the fragile circle of her ankle and every newly discovered inch of flesh to see if the texture is different from one place to another.

A lovely tint of pink colors her cheeks when she takes in my expression, which I imagine is quite frenzied, and the blush slowly travels downward until it is hidden behind her shirt. She fidgets, whether from nerves or excitement, her dark eyes an endless ocean of undisclosed desires and questions, and then she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

My restraint effectively snaps.

In a single fluid motion too swift to follow, Bella is in my arms, her feet dangling above the tile floor, her surprised gasp swallowed by my feverish lips. Common sense shrieks in the back of my mind that she is too fragile to withstand this recklessness, but I realize with a fleeting burst of satisfaction that my embrace is almost instinctively gentle, as if the knowledge to handle Bella with the utmost care has been ingrained into every fiber of my being.

She melts into me as her surprise at my actions fades, her arms winding around my shoulders to lock themselves together at the nape of my neck. Supporting her insubstantial weight with one hand, I let the other skim across her shoulder all the way down to her wrist, back and forth, savoring the feel of her heated, unbelievably soft skin.

Her heart pounds out a hasty, disjointed tempo and she arcs away from my mouth, panting. I set her back on her feet, leaving a trail of feathery kisses along her jaw and throat. Then I pause to catch my own breath, leaning my forehead against hers, my insatiable hands still tracing the contours of her arms and shoulders. "Bella," I murmur after a moment, my voice rough with emotion, "I must admit that I would agree to staying indoors every day if you would dress like this all the time."

She lowers her eyes, reddening with embarrassment, but her tiny smile reveals that she enjoys having that affect on me.

Attracted like a moth to a flame, my fingertips brush over the rosy hue staining her cheek. "Beautiful," I whisper, too quietly for her to hear, but her pulse quickens in response to my touch. I can feel her warm breath on my lips as she begins to rise up on her tiptoes…

The floor above us creaks loudly. Bella jumps, her face draining of color and looking positively mortified, while a buzz of groggy, half-formed thoughts stirs in a far corner of my awareness. "Your mother just woke up," I inform her soothingly. "She smelled the coffee and will be down in a few minutes."

Bella smoothes her hair, looking flustered, and then pivots sideways towards the refrigerator. "I'd better get started on breakfast." She pulls open the door and bends to examine its contents, clucking her tongue before removing a carton of eggs, milk, and cheese.

"Omelets?" I guess with a lopsided smirk. She smiles and nods, setting a frying pan on the stove.

Needing no further instruction, I gather some tomatoes, a green pepper, mushrooms and onions from the fridge. After locating a cutting board and a knife, I chop the vegetables into small pieces, deliberately slowing to human pace when Renée appears at the bottom of the stairs.

"Morning, kids," she greets around a yawn. She enters the kitchen and loops around Bella to a cupboard on the left, selecting a mug from inside and setting it on the counter while she reaches for the now full coffeepot. "You know you don't have to cook for us, Bella," she remarks pointedly, watching the steaming brown liquid pour into the mug. _I've missed this,_ she thinks at the same time.

Bella shrugs. "I want to," is her simple answer. She tips the bowl of beaten eggs into the frying pan. The familiar hiss is my cue to bring over the vegetables, so I walk to the stove and add them to the mix.

Renée seems taken aback by my participation. _She must really like him if she lets him help her cook._ She is reluctant to use the other 'L' word in her thoughts, even though it was the first thing that came to mind as she observes our well-coordinated movements. "Do you cook, too, Edward?" she asks, curious.

"A little." I glance over at her while I wash off the cutting board and knife in the sink, smiling faintly. "But I prefer to assist." My eyes shift to Bella and she looks up, her gaze soft and warm and utterly captivating. Then her grip falters a bit on the frying pan and I react, streaking to her side in the blink of an eye and cover her hand with mine on the handle. Both she and Renée gasp, startled. "Careful, love," I breathe into her ear. After, I release her hand and back away a few steps, shrugging sheepishly. "I was afraid you might burn yourself. Or sacrifice the omelets to the kitchen floor." I add a low chuckle. It has the desired effect and both women laugh, as well.

I return to the sink and place the cutting board and knife on the drying rack while casting furtive glances in Bella's direction, ensuring that she will not try to injure herself again when my back is turned.

Yet for all of my covert behavior, bewildered blue eyes continue to track every movement, puzzled thoughts trickling into my skull like drops of water. _He moved so fast – I didn't even see him until he was standing there. And he's so…protective of her. _She recalls the panicked expression that was on my face a split second before I had reached Bella, something I thought had not been visible to anyone. _Bella gets hurt all the time – he has to know that. Maybe that's why he seems so intense. Like he's ready to jump in front of a bullet for her or something._ Renée hums thoughtfully under her breath and takes a sip of coffee.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs and Phil breezes into the kitchen, wearing a similar shorts-and-a-polo outfit like yesterday's, the same baseball cap on his head. "Smells great, Bella," he comments, filling up a tall insulated mug with coffee. "I'm going to have to eat and run, though. Practice starts at ten and we make the boys do laps if they're late."

"Here." Bella uses the spatula to sever the omelet in half and lobs it onto a plate, handing it to him.

He promptly shovels a forkful into his mouth. "Mmm…" He smiles as he chews, and gives her a thumbs-up. "It's awesome. Like always." He nods at me, muttering through mouthfuls of egg, "She's a keeper, Edward. You won't find a better cook." _And she loves you. I can see that clear as day._ Phil's grin is lighthearted, but his eyes are steady and serious, mirroring the gravity of his thoughts.

I meet his stare unflinchingly. "I know," I reply, to both of his observations.

A flicker of respect lightens his stance and his smile tilts to the side as he takes a swig of coffee. _You've got guts, kid; I'll give you that. But you and I are going to have a talk._

Caught up in the brutal yet refreshing honesty of his mind, I almost nod in agreement, and stop myself at the last minute.

In record time, Phil finishes his omelet and sets the plate in the sink, grabbing his mug and car keys from the counter. "I'll be home for dinner." He kisses Bella on the cheek and then swoops down on Renée. "Have fun," he says. And with a slight nod in my direction, he then heads out the front door.

The other half of the omelet is passed to Renée, who also declares that it is delicious, and then Bella sets about making another for herself – and me, technically.

She looks on in sympathy as I struggle not to gag at the foul odor wafting from the plate she sets down on the table in front of me, and she also puts forth a valiant effort of distracting her mother so that I can hide portions of the quivering yellow mass in my napkin or flick it with my fork into the sink. But sadly, I have to swallow a few mouthfuls for the sake of appearances, and it settles uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach as Renée talks on and on about her plans for today.

"And I thought it might be fun to look at the surf shop a few blocks down. Don't you think it'd be fun to learn how to surf? Oh, and there's this fabulous little ice cream stand – Phil and I just found it a couple of weeks ago. They have _the best_ Toffee Crunch you will ever taste. And then –"

"Mom," Bella calls, throwing me a worried look as I cringe, an arm curling around my abdomen. "Why don't we just go shopping? Then we can think about all the other stuff." She starts grabbing everyone's plates, bustling over to the sink.

"Oh! I almost forgot." I jump a little in surprise when Renée's hand pats mine, clenched into a fist on the tabletop. "You're welcome to come with us, Edward. I know shopping might not be your thing, but it beats sitting around here, and a little Vitamin D will do you some good." She points with her chin towards the brilliant sunlight illuminating the patio. _He's so pale. Could he be anemic?_

I would have laughed if I weren't so nauseous. Clearing my throat, I say in a resigned tone, "Thank you, Renée, but I actually have a term paper due on Monday that needs quite a bit of work. Besides, you and Bella should have this time together." I throw a quick look at her, smiling as much as I can in hopes of quelling the anxiety on her face.

Renée is genuinely disappointed by this news, frowning as she remarks, "That's not very much fun for you. Can't you play hooky for a couple of hours?"

"I wish I could." This is as much truth as I can offer in our conversation. I shrug helplessly.

"Well, if you're sure…"

Bella seizes the opportunity to give me a chance to escape, blurting out, "Edward, why don't you go get your laptop and set it up in the living room while Mom and I do the dishes?" _Go,_ she mouths urgently.

I race upstairs to the bathroom, waiting until running water and the clatter of dishes echo from the kitchen to cover up the sounds of my retching. Once that unpleasantness is dealt with, I flush the toilet and then collect my laptop and a stack of books and papers from the guest room and come back downstairs.

I give Bella a grateful smile when her worried eyes seek me out from the kitchen, and she sighs in relief before returning to the dishes. Afterwards, I construct my stage – plugging the laptop into the nearest outlet and placing it on the coffee table, arranging papers and open books around me to look as though I am deep in research. The role of diligent student is one that I am skilled to play, and it takes a minimal amount of effort to appear absorbed in the task while Renée and Bella ready themselves to leave. Their voices fill the background as I type something scholarly on the keyboard.

"I can't believe you still have that ridiculous hat, Mom." Bella's voice is teasingly affectionate, and I suppress a smile. I know that she loves her mother's eccentric ways, despite how it affected her childhood.

_What's wrong with my hat?_ "I love this hat," Renée declares. My gaze flicks upward just in time to see her adjust the brim of a straw cowboy hat that looks like it has seen better days. "It keeps the sun out of my eyes." Her keys jangle in her hand as she opens the front door. "Should we drive with the top down?" she says suddenly, excited by the prospect. "It's not too hot yet."

"It's hot enough," Bella answers, looking over her mother's shoulder at the sun-baked front lawn.

Visions of her perfect skin seared red by sunburn fill my mind's eye, and I caution aloud, "Make sure you wear sunscreen."

Renée blinks in astonishment at my no-nonsense tone while Bella rolls her eyes. "Yes, Dr. Cullen," she retorts, smiling slightly, and I grin back, understanding that she is touched by my concern for her well-being. She has always been the caretaker, and is still not used to being taken care of, which is something that I plan to do personally for the next several millennia.

Later, much later, I realize that was the first time I ever thought of Bella's immortality without experiencing a painful stab of remorse.

Feeling a bit awkward as she tries to wrap her mind around the fact that my relationship with her daughter is much deeper than she had assumed, Renée pastes on a wide smile and says to me in a cheerful tone, "Don't work too hard, Edward. You've still got some time tomorrow to finish that paper. Maybe you and Bella can take a walk on the beach later tonight," she suggests, either forgetting or ignoring Charlie's words about letting the two of us go out of the house unsupervised.

Actually, the idea of an evening stroll with Bella has a great deal of charm. "That sounds great." I gesture towards the laptop and remark wryly, "I suppose I'd better get back to it, then."

Renée gives me an understanding smile and pushes open the front door, a gust of heavy, sweltering air overtaking the mild temperature in the living room. "Whew!" she exclaims. "I think we'll skip the whole 'drive with the top down' idea today. Let me go crank up the AC and then we'll go." She bounces down the porch steps, and a handful of seconds later an engine revs in the driveway.

Beside the puddle of sunshine streaming in from the doorway, Bella chews on her lower lip as she stares at me in indecision, her brows knitted together above troubled brown eyes.

In the span of a single heartbeat, I am standing in front of her, cradling her precious face in my hands. "What's the matter?" I inquire softly.

"I wish you didn't have to…hide out in here," she says, frustrated. Beneath the concern and hints of guilt in her expression, I glimpse the undercurrent of longing that had shown through so clearly last night.

My silent chest warms at her boundless compassion, and I bend down towards her upturned face to lightly kiss the tip of her nose. "I've told you before – it's a small price to pay. This time is for _you,_ love," I remind her gently, "not me." If only my true motive for bringing her to Jacksonville was as pure and simple as that. I chase the dark thought away with an infinitesimal jerk of my head and grin crookedly at Bella, murmuring, "We'll go for our walk later tonight, after dinner, I promise."

She nods, and then lifts her chin in wordless invitation. I hold back an amused chuckle as I cover her mouth with mine. It is my intention for this to be a brief farewell, but Bella lets out the tiniest whimper as I start to pull back and her hands come up to grasp at my shirt, pleading for more.

Helpless against the power she wields over me, I submit to a barrage of devastatingly sweet kisses, hardly aware as one hand glides down from her cheek to cup the side of her neck and the other traces the fragile arc of her spine to once again claim the spot at the small of her back, nudging her body closer to mine.

"Bella…" I try to sound resolved as I mumble around her eager, burning-soft lips, but my tone is laced with needy desperation. I have to end this now or I will not let her out of my arms for the rest of the day. "Your mother is waiting for you," I manage to articulate when she gulps in a sharp breath of much-needed air, her heartbeat galloping wildly through the vein on her neck beneath my thumb.

She drops her head onto my chest, taking deep breaths to calm her racing pulse, and straightens after a moment, her eyes searching. I wish I knew what she is looking for; I will give her anything, she must know that. All she has to do is ask. Instead, she backs out of my embrace and reaches for the doorknob, glancing over a shoulder as she says, "Phil will probably beat us home." A faint smirk curves her mouth. "I think he likes you."

"Yes," I agree. "But the jury is still out as to whether I'm good enough for you."

An adorable blush lights up Bella's heart-shaped face and she groans, "I hope not. One overprotective father is more than I can handle right now." She opens the door and steps out, grimacing at the heat.

I watch her climb into the car through the filmy curtains on the living room window and continue to track the distinct colored vehicle until it vanishes around the corner, the familiar ache of her absence awakening inside my chest. "Be safe," I plead almost silently.

Left to my own devices, I abandon the fabricated term paper and wander throughout the house, cataloguing every detail. Framed pictures of Bella at various stages in her life, some of them duplicates of those at Charlie's, decorate the walls and tabletops, along with photos of Renée and Phil's wedding.

Eventually I find myself back in Bella's room, drawn to the unique assortment of objects on the dresser. I handle each one very carefully and speculate on its significance to her. It strikes me as odd that she would choose to keep a pair of ragged pink satin ballet slippers, as she has told me that she does not like to dance, but perhaps the childhood memory of twirling around in ribbons and tulle is an important one.

The box I stumble upon when I look under the bed is a treasure trove of mementos that keeps me occupied for several hours. Old school papers, journal entries, hand-drawn pictures and many other items fill the cardboard container to the brim, and I consume this invaluable discovery in avid fascination. Each object is literally soaked with Bella's floral scent – it swirls around me as I pour over the words scribbled by her innocent young hand, laughing at their endearing bluntness.

At the very bottom of the box is a tatty crochet blanket, its pastel threads unraveling from too many washes, and a tiny pink sleeper imprinted with the words _It's a Girl! Forks Community Hospital, 1987._ I set both in my lap reverently, smoothing a wrinkle in the blanket, and pause when I feel a hard lump folded inside.

Lifting the corner, my throat tightens, and I pick up the little circle of plastic with my fingertips. The typed words are faded from age and the ink is beginning to run, but I can still read what it says._ Swan, Isabella Marie, DOB 9/13/87._

I do not know how long I sat there staring at the hospital bracelet, wondering how I had not felt _something_ on that day – a jolt of foreknowledge or a pang of yearning – but at the time, my existence was an endless parade of monotony and I was numbed by the realization that I would always be alone, separated from the happiness that my family shared with their mates.

Then the whirr of tires rolling down the street and an off-key male voice singing along with AC/DC breaks into my reverie and I hurriedly replace everything back into the box, sliding it under the bed. I dash downstairs while Phil's dark SUV pulls into the driveway and sit down in front of the laptop and click open an old file. The words fill up the screen just as he enters the front door.

"Ah," he sighs in relief at the cooler temperature. "It's a scorcher out there." Removing his cap, he wipes the back of his hand on his brow. Patches of moisture darken his polo under his arms and his back, and streaks of brown dust cling to one whole side of his body. He notices my questioning look and crinkles his mouth into an expression that is part smile, part wince. "I was demonstrating a base slide to the team," he explains, brushing at his shorts with a hand. A small cloud of dust puffs into the air. "Don't tell Renée. She'll flip out."

I grin faintly. "My lips are sealed."

_I do like him,_ Phil thinks, and starts for the kitchen to get something to drink. "She called to tell me you'd be here," he says loudly, rummaging around in the fridge. "Term paper, huh?" The cap twists off a bottle of beer with a light hiss and he takes a swig before asking, "How's it coming?"

Through his mind, I see myself shrug, my back to him on the sofa. "Pretty good, I guess." That seems like an appropriate high school senior response.

To my amazement, he tries to reassure me. "Don't stress about it. You're a smart kid." He snorts. "You got to be to keep up with Bella." Chuckling, he sets his beer on the countertop and then walks toward the stairs. "I'm going to get cleaned up," he comments idly, the chorus of _"Thunderstruck"_ playing in his head, and the shower turns on a couple of minutes later.

When he returns, Phil grabs his drink and the television remote before collapsing onto the recliner in the opposite corner of the room, putting his feet up as soon as he is settled. "Do you mind?" he asks, waving the remote in the air. "Arizona's playing Los Angeles and they were behind by two runs while I was on my way home."

"Still a Diamondbacks fan?" I remark, grinning.

"'Til the end, baby." Phil smiles back and turns on the TV, flipping to the correct channel. He is more verbal than Charlie – shouting at the players, the coaches, the referees and even the announcers – so I decide to put away the props and shut down the laptop, arranging the books and papers into a neat stack on the coffee table.

When the Dodgers are up to bat, Phil lowers the volume and fixes me with a level stare. Though I know from his thoughts what is coming, I raise my eyebrows and pretend to shift nervously in my seat, but I do not look away from his serious gaze. His opinion of me jumps up another notch.

"You know, Edward," he starts, "Bella's a special girl, and I love her like she was my own. She's responsible, levelheaded, smart, caring…and stubborn." He says that last adjective with a fond smile and I nod emphatically, prompting a laugh from us both. But he sobers quickly, continuing, "She doesn't make friends easily, but she's devoted to the people she cares about. Sometimes more devoted than they might deserve." The implied meaning in his words is clear.

I flinch, and then lean forward, bracing my arms on my thighs, hands clasped together in front of me. "Mr. Dwyer –"

He holds up a hand, palm outward. I hold my tongue. Whatever he has to say, it is no less than what I deserve for wounding Bella so deeply. "When Charlie asked Renée to come to Forks, we knew it had to be pretty bad." Phil speaks in a low voice, his eyes faraway. "She called me, sobbing, and said that her baby was 'not the same girl anymore', that she was empty inside. She'd said that she tried to convince Bella to come live with us – get away from the memories and start fresh – but Bella started screaming and throwing things around, and then she cried. For _hours,_ she cried." He shakes his head, frowning. "I can't even picture her like that. Renée wouldn't talk about it for two days; she just told me that she was afraid she was losing her baby." _I'd never felt so helpless,_ he laments to himself, recalling how crushed his normally vivacious wife had been at the time.

With a mental shake, he erases the memory from his thoughts and returns his attention back to me. _He looks all broken up,_ he thinks, taking in the devastation on my face. "I'm telling you this not to make you feel like crap," Phil says with bald frankness, "but because you should understand something about Bella." He leans forward in his seat as well, eyes blazing. "She loves you. I think you know that."

"I love her, too." The declaration leaves my mouth in a firm, uncompromising tone. "More than anything else in the world."

He is silent for a moment, his mind strangely hushed, and then he replies, "I believe you. So you know, then, that she's in it for the long haul. Whatever you two have is the most important thing in her life right now, and you're damn lucky she took you back." Jabbing his index finger at me, he utters point-blank, "Don't screw it up." _They won't find your body if you break her heart again._ His ruthless candor reminds me of Emmett, who made a similar threat just a couple of days after we moved back to Forks.

The quiet hum of the Beetle grows louder in the driveway, and the trunk pops open just as the engine shuts off. I use this moment to tell Phil the single-most vital purpose of my entire existence, vowing, "I won't fail her again."

Disconcerted by the almost feral light in my eyes, his innate sense of self-preservation causes him to retreat further back into his chair, although he passes off the feeling as being caught off-guard. _Renée said he was intense. And I think I believe him. _His head tips a little to the side, measuring me with his eyes. "All right," he answers simply. Then he turns up the sound on the television and gets back to his baseball game.

"We're back," Renée announces in a singsong voice as the front door swings open. Half a dozen shopping bags are tethered to her arms, which she dumps on the empty chair near the entrance, grinning.

I move to the door and hold it open while Bella lugs in four more bags, including a large one that smells of teriyaki sauce and steamed rice. "Have fun?" I murmur, removing the other three bags from her hands.

She gives me a withering glare, but there is a glimmer of humor in her chocolate eyes.

"We were starving, so we decided to get takeout." Renée takes the container from Bella and walks into the kitchen, where she begins to lay out the white and red boxes on the table along with four sets of chopsticks. She seems intent on learning how to use the archaic utensils, and is convinced that we should all try it out.

Needless to say, dinner becomes a hilarious affair. Phil slops a gravy-covered hunk of pepper steak on his shirt, and Renée has a dollop of bright orange sweet and sour sauce on her chin.

I manage to save Bella from the humiliation of wearing her chow mein by scooting her chair away from the table with my foot in the nick of time. Afterward, I gently take her hand and adjust her grip on the chopsticks, instructing her in a low voice while her mother and stepfather are laughing at each other's antics. And because of their distraction, I thankfully am able to dispose of my portion in the trash without having to subject myself again to the torture of eating food.

Once everything is cleaned up, I turn to Bella and ask loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Would you like to go for a walk down to the beach?"

She lights up, but then glances anxiously out the patio door at the sky, which has begun to darken with heavy clouds. "I think we'll miss the rain if we leave now," I assure her. I am desperate to get out of this house, and even more so for her company. Sifting through that box of memories in her room had transformed the ache in my chest to a gnawing hunger that refuses to be satisfied by these polite exchanges in the presence of Phil and Renée. I_ need_ to spend some time with Bella. Alone.

"Go on, sweetie," Renée encourages with a smile. "You should be used to the rain, living in Forks. Just come back if it's start thundering – the storms around here can get really nasty." _I can't remember what the forecast on the radio said. I think it might blow over._

Without hesitation, I tell her, "I'll keep her safe."

_I know you will._ The thought comes immediately as she gives a slight nod and is filled with conviction. I feel as though an immense weight has been rolled from my shoulders. If Renée can entrust me with her daughter's welfare, perhaps she will consent to give me her hand, as well. I wish that Charlie and Bella herself would be as amenable.

Aloud, Renée sends us off with, "Have fun. Don't be home too late."

Uncommonly eager, I swallow back my excitement and gallantly offer Bella my arm. Her smile and stuttering heartbeat is reward enough for the sacrifices I have made today. She loops her arm through the crook of my elbow, and together we stroll out the front door, our postures making it all too easy to envision what it would have been like for me to court Bella when I was still human.

Although there are a great many benefits to having met her in the twenty-first century. The lack of a chaperone, for example.

As soon as we are out of sight from the house, I whirl Bella into my arms and pull her close, burying my face in the crook of her neck. She laughs breathlessly while my senses are assaulted by the fiery aroma of her scent, the warmth of her skin beckoning to me. I give in to the temptation and press my lips to the side of her throat.

She shivers and moves deeper into my embrace, her soft, hot breath caressing the top of my head. "Long day?" she whispers with a hint of humor.

I hum in agreement, following the line of her jaw with slow, barely there kisses. "Excruciating," I reply against the curve of her cheek. Her arms link together on top of my shoulders as she arches into me, her heartbeat tripping over itself in wild abandon. Then I sigh and pull back a little, grinning sheepishly at Bella's fluttering eyelids and red-stained face. "But I did say that I'd take you for a walk on the beach."

"I'm good here," she insists, tightening her hold around me.

Though it is far more difficult than I would ever admit, I gently remove myself from her light-as-air grasp and reach for her hand, twining our fingers together. "Come on," I encourage her with a smile, "I haven't been to a Florida beach in a couple of decades. And…" Sniffing the air, I can taste the waning ionization on the light breeze. "I think the rain will hold off indefinitely. We should be able to see the stars soon." I squeeze Bella's hand, raising my eyebrows in undisguised enthusiasm. Last summer, the two of us had spent every clear night outside, marveling at the millions of diamond-like flecks scattered across the velvet black sky. And judging from the tiny smile on Bella's face, I would guess that she is remembering, as well.

Ever trusting, she stays by my side as we follow the sidewalk to where it ends. A wide expanse of pale sand stretches out before us, until it is swallowed by the blue-gray waves lapping at the shore. Weathered, sun-bleached rocks form break walls on either side of the beach, and further along the coastline, the flash of a lighthouse interrupts the growing twilight.

The stormy-looking clouds that had worried Renée are hovering above the water, conveniently blocking the rays of the setting sun as they continue to move out to sea, but the threat of bad weather seems to have been enough for local residents to stay indoors, which affords Bella and I a much-needed dose of privacy.

She tugs on my hand and I follow her to a rather lopsided palm tree, watching in utter bafflement as she slips out of her shoes and socks. "What are you doing?"

"Edward," she says, setting her footwear near the base of the trunk, "you can't walk on a beach with your shoes on. It just isn't done." Her tone is matter-of-fact, as though I should know the proper decorum for taking a stroll on the beach.

I stare with concern at her toes, wriggling in the fine-grain sand. "What if you step on something and injure yourself?"

"You have two medical degrees, Edward," she answers, rolling her eyes. "I'm not worried." She shrugs, the salty ocean breeze tangling her dark hair around her shoulders, her eyes sparkling. "You'll take care of me."

Her profound faith in my ability to keep her safe is as beautiful as it is undeserved. But I will not take such a gift for granted ever again. I step forward, lifting my hands to her delicate face, and press my forehead against hers. "Yes," I whisper, silently thanking God or fate or whatever power that brought this incredible, loving woman into my empty existence. "Always."

We stand there for a moment, savoring each other's closeness, and then I lean back slightly, inquiring, "Am I to assume that the 'no shoes on the beach' rule applies to me, as well?" I grin at her emphatic nod and quickly uncover my feet. The sand feels no different than when I was wearing my shoes, but there is something oddly freeing about the soft pliancy of our steps as we walk towards the shoreline, where the sand darkens from washed out cream to rich caramel, dotted with tiny seashells.

Foamy surf rolls across our bare feet and steadily erases our footprints while we amble down the beach hand-in-hand, talking about everything and nothing. Bella regales me with a summary of her shopping trip, confessing that after numerous excursions with Alice, she was more prepared to deal with pushy salespeople and an even pushier Renée. Her mother had insisted on purchasing at least two outfits and Bella had eventually surrendered. To my surprise, she mentions a red blouse that she had chosen, and adds that she might decide to wear it to school next week.

A particularly large wave then crashes onto the shore and Bella yelps, jumping into me as salt water splashes onto her calves and knees. I chuckle at her antics. "We're walking alongside the ocean, Bella. Did you think you wouldn't get a little wet?"

She makes a face and glares in my direction, strands of dark hair lashing against her cheeks. "Wet_ feet_ are fine, but I wasn't planning on going swimming." Her lips purse into that adorable pout as she looks down at herself, and I am suddenly struck with wicked inspiration.

Concealing my glee, I offer, "Why don't you switch with me?" She nods, and I smoothly slip around her. We move forward a few steps before the next wave arrives, and as the warm water rises almost to my ankles, I angle one foot sideways and kick a torrent of droplets at Bella.

She gasps and freezes in place, her mouth hanging open in shock. Then she turns to me, chocolate eyes alight with the feisty spirit that I love bringing out of her, though the consequences are usually less than favorable for me.

I have less than a second to prepare before Bella twists out of my grasp and leaps into the surf behind me, unleashing a deluge of splashes. I immediately return the favor, laughing at her shrieks and giggles while our clothes become drenched. She scrunches her eyes shut and lifts her hands in a futile attempt to block another sizable spray, and then unexpectedly takes off, racing away from the water.

Grinning, I let out a playful growl and spring, catching her easily. She squeals, her heart flying as we sail through the air, and I adjust our positions so that I hit the ground first. A cloud of sand billows upward from the impact, the shape of my body imprinted perfectly into the beach, but Bella is barely jostled.

Once she catches her breath, she lifts her head from my chest and smiles down at me. There is such joy and carefree delight in her expression that I feel as though I am trying to stare at the sun, captivated by its beauty even as its radiance sears my eyes.

I brush some glittering drops of water from her flushed cheek with my fingertips. "You seem different here," I murmur softly, tucking her hair behind an ear. "More relaxed. It's quite distracting," I admit, giving her a crooked smile, and the rosy hue of her skin darkens another shade.

"It could have something to do with all this sunshine," she replies, lowering her eyes to watch her fingers play with the collar of my shirt. "But I think it's because I get to spend this time with you." She says this in a quiet voice just above a whisper and then bites her bottom lip, her gaze flicking up to meet mine.

My arms tighten around her gently. The wordless gesture of affection seems to uncork something within her, and she begins to speak with a passion that I have only seen glimpses of in the past. "I like having you here, visiting my mom and Phil. I like that you can stay in the house with us and not get the evil eye." Hers narrow dangerously, and I would guess that she is recalling all those times when Charlie displayed his loathing of my presence in his house with hard, condemning glares. "And…" She pauses, a shy grin tugging at her mouth. "I've always wanted to take a walk on the beach with you. It's a silly romantic cliché, I know," she says, rolling her eyes, "but I'm glad we did."

"So am I." Leaning forward, I give her a quick kiss.

When I lay back against the sand, Bella props herself up on an elbow atop my chest and asks, "Did you and Phil have some male bonding time before Mom and I got home?"

For a fraction of a second, I debate internally about how much I should reveal of our discussion, but then decide to just let the words flow naturally. "Yes, we did," I answer, and begin twirling a strand of her hair around my index finger. "Watched a little bit of baseball…and had a very enlightening man-to-man chat." I raise an eyebrow to add a bit of levity to my response, but Bella blinks, taken aback.

"Enlightening, how?" Her voice is thick with apprehension.

I stroke her arms soothingly and murmur, "Let's just say that he and I have come to an understanding." A low chuckle rumbles in the back of my throat as she drops her head onto my shoulder with a groan. "He wanted to make sure that my intentions are honorable," I tell her quietly, my grin fading as I go on, "that you won't get hurt again. I can hardly fault him for that." I smooth the obscuring curtain of mahogany hair away from her face to see her expression. Her gaze is fixed upon her fingers while they fiddle absently with the top button of my shirt, sliding it in and out of its hole, and spots of pink appear on the apples of her cheeks.

After a moment of unbearable silence, she mumbles in a timid voice, "And…he's okay with…us?"

Cupping her chin in my palm, I gently lift her head, waiting until her eyes meet mine to reply, "As well as can be expected, given that he loves you like his own." My thumb traces the curve of her lower lip and I smile when she lets out a shaky breath. "But yes, he seems to approve of our relationship."

Bella returns my grin, relieved, and then curls into me, nuzzling her cheek against the base of my throat. I hold her close, glancing up at the smoky lavender sky. The first star winks a brilliant white through the wispy clouds right above us. An old nursery rhyme surfaces in my head: _Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…_

"You know what I like most about being here?" she says suddenly, her voice soft.

My lips brush against the crown of her head as I reply, "What?"

"How uncomplicated everything is." She shifts a little against me, and the warmth of her skin, covered by the thin fabric of her shirt and shorts, causes my nerve endings to tingle and the seventeen-year old part of my brain to chase after numerous illicit fantasies. I push them aside before my body can react and heave a mental sigh. My very existence complicates her life, but she will never see it that way, and I am far too selfish to try and convince her otherwise.

Oblivious to my inner conflict, Bella goes on, "Here, with my mom and Phil, it's okay that we're together. There's no treaty between mythical creatures to worry about, no Italian vampire royalty telling us what to do…" Her shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh that seems remarkably contented. "We're just two people who love each other and want to be together. Forever."

"Forever," I repeat in the barest whisper, surprised at the inkling of pleasure coating the word. Though consigning herself to an eternal struggle with bloodlust just to be with me has been Bella's intent almost from the beginning of our relationship, I have always shoved aside my own selfish desires on the subject by telling myself that she does not deserve a soulless, unchanging existence. Yet she remains steadfast in her wish, and I find myself dwelling less on the negative repercussions of her choice and more on the endless possibilities of seeing her as an _equal,_ rather than my fragile little human.

The vision that has haunted me since last January flits through my mind: Alice and Bella, arm in arm, their skin identical in its marble-like coolness, and Bella looks up with a faint smile, her eyes the vivid, telling scarlet of a newborn vampire.

It is nearly impossible to label the emotions that such a sight causes within me. In truth, part of me does not want to acknowledge them all, because it would mean that I am not entirely committed to discovering some way to circumvent this particular future.

But that is also a lie. I am not committed to avoiding what my sister calls inevitable. I want it – and her – more than I have ever wanted anything.

_Selfish! Unworthy!_ My conscience shouts the terms like obscenities, ringing inside my skull. Yet the longing is undeniable. To have my Bella at my side forever…the very notion fills me with indescribable joy.

And she wants it, too, or at least she thinks she does. Any other teenage girl might change her mind a dozen times over about everything, but Bella is so far removed from her peers that none of them could ever hope to compare with her. She is constant. She does not waver in her decisions.

However, she is also young. She has not experienced life and the world to its fullest. What if she regrets her choice after it is too late to go back? Would she blame me for killing her humanity?

A memory surfaces, unbidden. Hate-filled crimson eyes blaze out from a beautiful pale face twisted by rage and framed by a tangled mass of gold hair matted with blood. _"You did this to me!"_ the newly awakened Rosalie shrieks in my head. _"Why didn't you just let me die? I_ wanted _to die! I don't want to be…this! I'm a monster! I HATE YOU!"_

My body quakes at the thought of Bella screaming those three words at me, and I instinctively seek comfort in her unique scent, pushing my nose into her hair and inhaling deeply, the flavor burning my throat.

"Edward?" She must have felt me shudder, for she leans up on an elbow to see my face, her brown eyes questioning. Then she frowns, her free hand moving towards my forehead to trace the crease between my eyebrows with her fingers. "Are you okay?" Her caress follows the line of my brow to my temple, and she brushes the curl of my ear as she combs through my hair, calming my fears.

I nod once while silently marveling at the way her skin glows silver-white in the starlight with just the barest hint of pink, revealing her humanity. "I love you," I tell her softly, worlds of implication buried within those three small words.

In response she smiles, both knowing and pleased, and cups the back of my head in her hand, guiding my face towards hers. Our kisses skirt the edges of propriety in such a setting as a public beach, but I cast aside the long-ingrained habits of my upbringing for a few blissful moments, soaking up the warmth of Bella's lips and the sweetness of her breath.

When she pulls away for air, I reluctantly begin to sit up, saying, "We should head back to the house."

She sighs and nods, and I allow her to slip from my embrace so that I can stand in a swift, fluid motion. Then I offer her my hand, bringing her to her feet. She staggers a little on the uneven ground, and then brushes sand from her clothes. I try not to stare as she cleans off the back of her shorts.

Phil and Renée are curled up together on the sofa watching television, and both of them look up as we slip inside. "Look what's on, honey," Renée says, beaming, and gestures at the screen.

Bella focuses on the images for a half-second and then remarks with a faint smile, "I remember this one. You had a crush on the girl's best friend."

While Renée protests, she heads over to the loveseat and folds her legs beneath her as she sits, leaving more than enough space for me. But despite that, I can feel Phil's eyes tracking my every move while I settle onto the seat beside Bella and slowly drape an arm across the back of the loveseat.

After a few minutes, the women seem absorbed with the story line of the film – some romantic comedy that I vaguely recall having seen before, or perhaps the plot is similar – and Phil's mind has begun to wander, reminiscing over the game he'd watched earlier, his gaze fixed blankly on the television.

In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of the clock mounted on the far wall, and its ticking suddenly fills my ears, each second counting down to the moment when Alice's vision becomes reality. Even now, my family will be preparing to deal with this threat to our most vulnerable member, and I wonder not for the first time if I should have stayed behind to help.

Yet the mere thought of leaving Bella fills me with such dread that I can scarcely concentrate. The need to be near her superseded the desire to aid my family – and the thirst for vengeance – which is why I am sitting in Renée's living room at this precise moment.

Surely it was the right choice to accompany Bella rather than send her off to Florida alone just for the sake of my selfish longing for revenge against the redheaded demon that dares to threaten my mate…

I cut off that thought as a growl struggles to make it past my clenched teeth. I cannot dwell on such things or I will go mad. Angling my head ever so slightly, I take a deep, slow breath of cool air suffused with Bella's scent. The sweet tickle of freesia releases the tension in my muscles as the burn in my throat spreads to warm my entire body. And I remind myself that Alice would call if anything had changed. I have to rely on her vision and trust that my family can handle the situation.

_"You are right where you should be,"_ my sister's words echo in my head, _"which is with Bella. She needs you more than we do."_

A soft nudge against my thigh pulls me completely out of my brooding. Bella has inched closer to me as the minutes passed, and the top of her knee presses into the side of my leg. At first she seems unaware of the contact, but soon a telltale flush of color blooms in her cheeks and her eyes dart once in my direction. Then she self-consciously flips her hair over a shoulder and the warm, silky strands glide across the back of my hand, tempting me to wind them around my fingers. In response, my grip on the loveseat tightens, but thankfully not enough to damage the frame.

_They seem so comfortable together,_ Renée's now familiar mental voice whispers into my mind. A flicker of puzzlement follows her next thought: _How can he be so still for such a long time? Like a statue…_

In my conflicted reverie, I had forgotten to maintain the charade, and of course Bella's observant mother had noticed my slip-up. With exaggerated slowness, I shift my posture and slouch back against the cushion, leaning a bit to the far side, away from Bella.

Almost instantly, she moves as well, without taking her attention from the movie, and the small space I had created between us is now nonexistent.

All of this is noted by Renée, who marvels as her blue eyes continue to study us, _It's like she can feel when he's further away from her. _The image of a pair of magnets racing towards one another appears in her mind – an analogy that is strangely accurate. Whether halfway around the world or across the room, we always seem to find each other with nearly instinctual ease. I had once attributed it to the enhanced senses I possess as a vampire, but now I realize that the connection goes much deeper than any physical sense if Bella can feel it, too. Perhaps even soul deep.

I push that notion aside, dismissing it as impossible…but still…

_Let it go, Edward._

It is close to midnight when the movie ends, and I can tell that the day's activities have taken their toll on everyone. Phil flicks off the TV and rises to his feet with a stretch, yawning. He and Renée bid us goodnight and head upstairs, their footfalls heavy and slow, and from the lethargy of both their minds I know that it will not be long before they are asleep.

As soon as all is quiet above us, Bella surprises me by crushing herself into my side, her head tucked in its usual place beneath my chin. "Bella, what…?" I start to say, bewildered.

She hushes me and mumbles into the collar of my shirt, "I'm absorbing the moment."

Before I can ask what that means, she clarifies by adding softly, "Since you won't be able to sneak into my room until later and I might not be awake then." A yawn stretches out the last part of her explanation.

Chuckling under my breath, I wrap my arms around her and reply, "I don't think you'll have to worry about that tonight, love." My lips brush against her ear as I whisper conspiratorially, "They're already asleep."

Her pulse stutters, and then beats in double-time while she slowly straightens to look at me with a faint, hopeful smile and dark eyes that are, _God help me,_ smoldering in invitation.

She leans forward for a kiss, but I place one finger over her lips, halting her. "Get ready for bed first." Her expression wrinkles into an adorable pout, and I have to work hard to disguise the humor in my voice. "I'll be waiting for you in your room," I promise, reluctantly removing my finger from her mouth when she nods in agreement.

With a sigh, Bella gets up and heads for the stairs, muttering a parting shot. "You'd better be."

I listen to the familiar sounds of her readying for bed until my attention is drawn to the cell phone in my pocket. Though my rational side demands that I ignore the impulse, my hand slips around the tiny device and I tug it out. Then I stare at the silver rectangle sitting idly in my palm for a number of minutes.

Maybe I could just call once, just to see if everything is all right, if anything has changed. It would only take a few seconds…

I jump as the phone vibrates in my hand. Flipping it open, I see that there is a text message from Alice. It is simply two words: _Stop worrying._

A small snort escapes me. As if such a thing were possible. Especially when Bella is involved.

Upstairs, the sound of running water is cut off, and I realize that I have a promise to keep. I fly up the steps to the guest bedroom and change into my 'sleepwear' before settling on the edge of Bella's bed just as the bathroom door swings open.

She studies me for a moment, lips pursed ever so slightly, and I fight off the unusual desire to fidget beneath her scrutiny. Instead I fold back the covers and pat the mattress gently, murmuring, "Come lay down, Bella. I know you're tired."

"You get in first." Her tone broaches no refusal.

While I cannot deny that the notion of lying beside her without layers of blankets between our bodies is extremely appealing, her comfort must come first. "Bella," I begin in a low voice, trying to express my regret with each word. "I don't think that would be –"

"Edward," she says my name like a slap, hard and quick. "We are in Florida. It's hot here, and I'm hot, I'm tired, and I want to fall asleep next to my supernaturally cold-skinned boyfriend." She stumbles a bit over the term _boyfriend,_ and I would ask her why, if not for the fierce gleam in her eyes warning me to hold my tongue.

Obediently, I climb underneath the linen sheet and prop myself up on an elbow as Bella slides in, sighing quietly at the coolness of the sheet on her skin.

With an eagerness I will never understand, she curls into my chest, and I wrap one arm around her waist while slipping the other hand through her hair to cradle the nape of her neck. I have noticed that she likes to put a cool cloth there when she's overheated, so perhaps the touch of my chilled skin will be an adequate substitute.

"Mm," she breathes in relief. "That's nice." And she is soon fast asleep.

I monitor her body temperature carefully for the next two hours to make certain that she is simply reacting to the humidity and is not developing a low-grade fever.

Once I am satisfied that her health is not at risk, I find momentary solace in the rhythm of her heart as a new strain of melody dances around in my head. It is a perfect complement to the lullaby I had composed: light, peaceful, and full of comfort. Whereas the first piece is a melancholy reflection of a time when I believed our love could never survive.

For a few blissful hours, I almost make myself forget about what is going to happen somewhere in the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest.

Then in the darkness just before dawn, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I silence it quickly so the noise does not disturb Bella, and with apprehension coursing through me, I read the message glowing on the screen. _Go down to the beach and wait for my call. A._

Slithering out of her limp embrace, I spare a brief moment to tuck the sheet around Bella and then creep outside through her window, my phone clutched tightly in my fist. The crash of the waves echoes dimly in my ears as the sand gives way under my bare feet, and a low rumble of thunder across the water heralds an approaching storm.

My patience nonexistent, I stride up and down the beach, the wind mussing my hair even more so than my fingers as they constantly rake through it in agitation. I complete the circuit five times before the phone vibrates once again. It is pressed to my ear in less than a microsecond.

"We lost her."

The words ignite like wildfire through the synapses in my brain, and the edges of my vision turn red as pressure builds in my chest, rage burning within my stone shell like a lit fuse on a powder keg. I hear a low sound, like a deep-pitched growl, and my immobile body quivers in tandem.

The one small piece of sanity left in my instinct-driven mind is able to register Alice's weary sigh. "Just get it out of your system," she says. "I can wait. But don't break the phone." Then she disconnects.

Heavy drops of rain begin to spatter the beach as the phone slips from my grasp, the roaring in my head drowning out the boom of thunder, and soon the world is a blur of muted color as my legs carry me towards the break wall.

Salty spray hits my face while I watch my hands yank a weathered rock from the pile, and a snarl rips itself from my throat as I hurl the boulder out to sea. The storm-tossed ocean devours its splash greedily as though taunting me of the futility of my actions. I grab another rock and throw it, then another, and another. And all the while, the same image plays over and over in my mind's eye: Victoria lurking outside Charlie's house, poised to strike at the reason for my existence, to snuff out Bella's life in revenge for her lost mate.

At every turn, something or someone conspires to take her away from me.

Flinging back my head, I glare up at the lightning-slashed sky and scream until there is no air left in my lungs. The cry is both a challenge and an admission of defeat. No matter how hard I try, or how I may struggle to overturn fate, the only way to keep Bella truly safe is to make her immortal. I cannot lose her again…even at the cost of her soul.

But as God is my witness, I will end this threat against her life with my own hands. Victoria will_ burn_ before the summer.

A mile down the shoreline, the abandoned cell phone starts vibrating. I pull in a deep breath and let it out through my teeth. Regardless of how I feel, I must not lay blame on my family. I am sure they all did everything they could. I repeat that mantra mentally as I jog back, damp strands of hair lashing against my forehead, and I snatch the phone up from the sand.

"I won't bother asking if you're all right," Alice remarks wryly. "I'm surprised you stopped demolishing the break wall." She pauses for half a second while I slam my fist into the trunk of the nearest palm tree, which shudders in protest, and then orders, "Leave the trees alone, Edward. Someone will notice two or three uprooted palms floating out to sea."

Inhaling a gust of rain-scented air, I squeeze my eyes closed and strive for calm. After a minute or so of tense silence, through which Alice remains tolerantly quiet, I manage to bite out, "What. Happened?"

She recites blandly, her wind chime voice leached of emotion, "All of us were tracking Victoria through the forest. We nearly had her – until she veered off towards the Quileute boundary line. Two wolves were out on patrol when they caught her scent and ours and followed along their side of the line." Her tone hardens, betraying her anger as she continues. "It was like Victoria knew_ exactly_ where the boundary was, like she was reading it off of a map. But then Emmett saw a chance to grab her and jumped – right into the path of a big gray wolf."

"Paul," I mutter to myself. Through stray thoughts and Bella's narration of her time with them, I have been able to identify by name some of the pack while they are in their wolf forms.

"Neither of them breached the line," Alice goes on, "but Paul seemed to think so and went on the offensive, snarling and snapping like a starved mongrel. He knocked Emmett aside and into a nearby tree, and of course Rosalie didn't like that. She was ready to pounce – but by then the rest of us had looped back around and Jazz calmed things down so Carlisle could explain that the treaty hadn't been violated." She sighs, long and regretful. "Once it was all straightened out, Victoria was long gone." A little growl slips out before she admits, "I couldn't see where she went afterwards because of the damn mutts. I'm sorry, Edward," she adds sadly.

"No, Alice," I reply at once, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. "It's not your fault."_ If anything, those accursed dogs are responsible for her escape._ Yet another affront they have laid upon my family out of sheer immature stupidity. "And tell Emmett to not beat himself up over it, either. I know how much he cares for Bella." My words sound hollow even to my own ears.

Alice murmurs gently, "The same goes for you, too, mister. Even if you'd been here, it wouldn't have made any difference."

"Oh, so you're omniscient now?"

"Nope, just naturally brilliant," she quips in her usual chipper manner, wringing a tiny smile out of me. She becomes serious then, saying, "I'll keep an eye out for Victoria – see if she makes an appearance in my visions again."

"She will sooner or later," I answer darkly. My rage has cooled somewhat, and is now tempered with a steely resolve. "She has nothing else to live for except her vengeance. Something that she will never attain." Bella must be protected at all times, and between the seven of us, I know we can keep her and Charlie safe.

Thoughts churn within my head as I start making plans for what needs to be accomplished when we return to Forks, and suddenly Alice heaves a long-suffering sigh. "I see we're going to have another family discussion when you get back. I'll let the others know." Then she lets out a soft gasp; something has taken her by surprise. My hand tightens convulsively around the phone. "Bella is getting very restless. You need to be there when she wakes up," Alice informs me with grim certainty.

"How much time?" I start towards the pavement skirting the far edges of the beach.

"Minutes. Maybe less."

I break into a run, calling out above the whistle of the wind, "Thank you, Alice. For everything."

Her bright smile colors her voice as she chirps, "See you in sixteen hours."

Pocketing the phone, I dash across the front yard of the Dwyer house and then scale up to Bella's bedroom window, slipping inside while my eyes find her sprawled on the bed, the sheet tangled around her legs. She flips over a second later, mumbling incoherently, and I have just enough space to lay down behind her, spooning her fragile body with my own.

I feel the warmth radiating from her skin like the glow of a fire, and I pull in a deep breath, the aching thirst an inconsequential matter as I bury my face in her sleep-tousled hair.

A lump swells in my throat while I consider the danger she will be in yet again because of me and, moved by desperate need and fear of losing the one thing that has made this endless existence worth living, I wrap my arms around her as tightly as I dare.

Bella hums in response, and turns her head to the side to peer at me sleepily over her shoulder. "Hey," she murmurs, her voice husky.

"Hey." My fingertips brush twisted strands of dark hair from her cheek before I bend down to kiss the flushed skin. "Go back to sleep, love," I encourage her in a whisper. "There's still some time left before you need to get up."

"'Kay," she yawns, snuggling into my embrace. "Love you." And she nods off peacefully, her small arms resting over mine on her waist, her heartbeat once again singing in my ears.

Morning arrives with the golden Florida sun struggling to pierce the cloud cover left behind after the early thunderstorm. Like yesterday, Bella is the first to awake, and she greets me with a warm smile and deliciously tempting kisses would have lasted for hours had I not prompted her to have a 'human moment'.

While she is in the shower, I steal down the hallway to the guest room and dress quickly, then glance over our airline tickets. Noting the departure time, I flip open the laptop sitting on the unused bed and check today's weather forecast. Storms are predicted to move in and out of the area, which is all well and good, but the sporadic protection offered by the shifting clouds could prove troublesome. I will have to mark the sun's position at all times in order to stay out of its revealing light.

I head downstairs to the kitchen and switch on the coffeemaker, and Bella joins me a few minutes later, looking as enticing as ever in shorts and a purple tank top. She blushes at my raised eyebrow but shrugs as she remarks, attempting to be casual, "I miss being able to wear shorts all the time. I figured I might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

"Indeed." I tear my eyes from the smooth, creamy lines of her legs and give her a crooked grin.

The pink in her cheeks darkens but she sweeps past me without comment, although her steps falter when I brush my knuckles along the curve of her bare shoulder.

She removes an orange from the bowl of fruit on the table and starts to peel off its bumpy skin while I pour her some coffee.

Renée then appears in the doorway, bleary-eyed but dressed for the day, and I offer her a steaming mug, as well. She settles in the chair across from her daughter and munches on a granola bar, and waits until Bella has eaten her last orange wedge before declaring, "Let's go for a quick walk down to the beach, honey. I want to show you my favorite spot." Her wide smile does little to disguise the unusually sober tone of her thoughts. _Need to talk to her about this boy… are more serious than I'd thought… so intense…_

"Sure," Bella agrees. Then she glances at me, her expression questioning. I smile back softly, confident that she will deflect her mother's concerns, and watch them exit through the front door, linking arms as they stroll towards the shoreline.

In the meantime, while Phil snores in the background, I gather up our belongings and pack the bags for the trip home. The quilt from Renée is placed carefully on top of Bella's clothes, but I leave her bag open in case she decides to bring anything else back to Forks.

A high-pitched trill erupts from the other room, startling Phil from his sleep, and he grapples along the nightstand for his cell phone. "Hello?" he mumbles, then clears his throat. "Hello."

"It's me," Renée answers cheerfully. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, babe, I'm awake." He collapses onto the pillows, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"Bella and I are on our way back to the house," she tells him, "then she and Edward need to get to the airport, so make yourself decent, okay?" She says goodbye after this announcement and hangs up.

While he grumbles and pushes himself out of bed, I race soundlessly downstairs and flip on the television, pretending to channel-surf.

My acute hearing picks up her heartbeat while she and Renée are still half a block from the house, and I attempt to scan her mother's mind for any hints of what they had talked about regarding our relationship. But Renée's childlike thoughts seem pleasantly excited as she speaks to Bella about a science fiction novel of all things that she has begun reading.

Through the older woman's oblivious gaze, Bella looks distracted, her brown eyes faraway and lost in some unknown place while Renée chatters on and on. But that distant look vanishes from her expression when she and her mother enter the house to find me lazing on the couch watching TV while Phil clomps down the steps, tugging a shirt over his head. "I'm decent," he announces, skidding to a stop. "Are we ready to get rolling?"

Bella's lips twitch at his mussed hair, although she replies nonchalantly, "Just need to get my bag."

I volunteer to help and trail after her, but she stops me just outside her room. "Give me a minute, okay?" she asks softly.

"Of course." Puzzled, I back away and then walk down the hall to collect my bag, counting the seconds in my head to give Bella some time to herself.

When two minutes have passed, I peer cautiously around the corner – and blink in surprise. Bella is standing in the middle of the room hugging a ratty-looking stuffed bear as her head moves slowly from side to side, like she is taking survey of all the memories contained here.

After a moment, she holds the bear out in front of her, smiling wistfully, and places it on the bed before slinging the strap of her bag over a shoulder. Turning on heel, she sees me waiting in the hallway and her face lights up, the pensive shadow gone from her eyes. "Let's go home," she says, and I move aside so that she can precede me down the stairs, wondering all the while if what had just happened was a symbol of Bella laying to rest this part of her life.

I watch her in silence during the drive to the airport, lost in the ambiguity of emotions stirring within me. While I know that every man or woman on the cusp of adulthood must put away the trappings of a child and enter the world without illusions, I cannot help but realize that Bella is not only surrendering ties to her youth but also to everything she has ever known, including her mother.

And all for me.

Though she swears being with me forever is worth the sacrifice, my self-loathing will not allow me to be at peace with her decision. Eternity is a long time to live with regrets, and I do not want Bella to suffer that way because I was not totally honest about what she will be giving up by becoming a vampire.

As if she can sense my distress, Bella reaches for my hand across the seat and threads her fingers through mine. I cling tightly to her offered lifeline until it is time to enter the airport terminal.

Outside the security station, Bella turns to Renée, whose blue eyes glisten with tears, and the two embrace. "Thank you so much for coming, baby," Renée murmurs, stroking her daughter's hair. "Promise me that you'll visit again before heading off to college."

The guilty flash in Bella's expression fades as her mother pulls back, and she smiles a little in an effort to mask the lie. "I promise." Her brow suddenly crinkles with worry. "But you're coming to my graduation, right?" she says, anxious.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world!" Renée exclaims, and folds her into another hug.

After releasing Bella, she turns to me, smiling with genuine warmth even though her instincts continue to warn her away. "It was nice to see you again, Edward," she tells me. Then she catches us all of us by surprise as she gives me a brief yet heartfelt hug. _You take care of my little girl,_ she thinks with maternal ferocity, and I am immediately reminded of Esme.

Meanwhile, Phil wraps Bella in a strong-armed squeeze, and once Renée and I part, he offers me his hand. _Now that we understand one another, kid, you aren't half bad._ "Good to meet you, Edward," he says as a farewell. His gaze shifts from me to Bella, and he speculates to himself,_ They make a nice couple…but I sure wouldn't want to be in Charlie's shoes when he asks her to marry him, 'cause I would bet money that she'll say yes._ He shakes his head, imagining the kind of reception such an announcement would receive.

Part of me wants to tell him that Bella already refused once, but I doubt that particular bit of information would sit well with anyone present.

Renée and Phil wave at us one last time as we get in line for check-in and then depart, and in less than two hours we find ourselves settling into another pair of first-class seats.

When the stewardess asks if we would like anything, Bella orders a Coke, to which I respond with a stern frown. "Bella, you should try to rest during the flight," I protest once the stewardess leaves.

She stubbornly shakes her head as she rummages around in her carry-on. "That will only make it harder to adjust to the time difference. I need to stay awake." Setting her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ in her lap, she looks up at my disapproving face and touches my cheek with her fingertips. "I'll be fine, Edward."

After take-off, Bella reads to herself for an hour or so, and I fall into one of my favorite pastimes: watching her ever-changing expressions while twirling a lock of her mahogany hair around my finger.

"Thank you," she says unexpectedly.

I pause from smoothing her thick tresses away from the curve of her neck and reply, "For what?"

She shifts in her seat to face me, brown eyes clear and deep. "For coming with me to see my mom."

Helpless to resist the urge, I lean in to press my lips to her forehead. "You're welcome," I breathe on her skin. Then I straighten, grinning mischievously. "Does that mean you've forgiven me for telling Charlie about the airline vouchers and – what did you say? – 'throwing you to the sharks'?" I tug playfully on the strands of hair still looped around my index finger.

The grimace on her face does not hold for long, and she admits in reluctance, "Yes. But I still wish you'd talked to me about it first before dumping it on Charlie like that." A pointed glare in my direction puts emphasis on her words.

"I did talk to you about it," I answer, a little defensively. "Remember? We were in your room, and I asked you if –"

"No," Bella interrupts, "you only_ mentioned_ the idea of going to Florida this weekend without discussing all the details. If you'd said something then about me talking in my sleep about Renée…" she trails off with a shrug. "I probably would have agreed to go."

Dumbfounded, I can only stare at her, and she smiles fondly. "Don't you know what they say about making assumptions?" she teases. Then she sobers, keeping me locked within her earnest gaze as she goes on. "You know me better than anyone, Edward, but you can't always assume that you know how I'm going to react to things. We need to make decisions _together._ That's how relationships work." Her eyes flick upward, and her smile widens as she reaches out to push the hair from my brow.

_It's how a marriage works, too,_ a tiny voice whispers in the back of my head, and I slump at bit with the realization that I acted like a complete cad. "You're right," I confess in a mumble. "I should have talked to you about it first. Forgive me." I bow my head, ashamed of my behavior, and of what I am still hiding from her – the true reason behind our visit with Renée.

Ever gracious, Bella pushes up the armrest between our seats and scoots closer, winding her arms around my neck. "I already did," she whispers, her breath warming my lips, and I ignore the sharp twinge of conscience as she covers my mouth with hers. I will tell her about Victoria later, when the time is right.

The plane touches down at Sea-Tac right after 5:00PM local time, though we have been in the air for over six hours, and the exhaustion is starting to take its toll on Bella. She is clumsier than usual; I stop her from tumbling down the ramp as we exit the plane, and glare furiously at a hasty businessman who shoves his way past her at baggage claim. He retreats with wide, frightened eyes while I pull Bella into my side, gently massaging her arm with my free hand.

On the shuttle ride to collect the Volvo from the parking garage, Bella calls Charlie to let him know that we are on the way. The gruffness in his voice is obviously feigned – a clear sign that he missed her very much this weekend.

And soon, we are speeding northwest along the interstate. Bella is strangely quiet, peering out of the passenger window at the thick layers of clouds, and my conscience pricks me yet again to tell her what had happened while we were gone.

But I cannot bear to see the dark stain of terror in her eyes, so I maintain the silence while inwardly renewing my vow to protect her at all costs. No matter the sacrifice or how some of my family may complain, or how any obnoxious dogs interfere, she will be kept safe. By any means necessary.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I owe so much thanks to those of you who kept niggling my conscience and inbox about updates. But I especially want to thank _fgeragosian_ for your enthusiasm and votes of confidence, and _icrodriguez_ for being my cheerleader, research consultant, and dear friend.

For the readers interested in the timeline of Edward and Bella's flight back to Washington, here are the logistics: If a nonstop plane lands in Seattle at 5:00pm PST, it would need to leave Florida around 1:15pm EST (6 hour, 45 minute flight, usually). If it leaves at 1:15pm EST, add 6 hours, 45 minutes, it would land at 8:00pm EST, 5:00pm PST. (Thank you again, _icrodriguez!)_

And I would be so honored if you'd take a moment to tell me how you liked the chapter, or even if you just want to tell me off about the long wait. I value and appreciate your opinion.


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